


Magic Made The Red Cliffs Bloody

by AkiRah



Series: Hold The Sky [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Gen, Platonic Snuggles, Surana continues to be bad at feelings, TEEAAAAGHHHAAAAUN, The Arl of Redcliffe, The Sword of the Beresaad, Zevran flirts with everything, implications that isolde has is bad for Teagan, more blood magic, the armies of the undead, the whole Jowan thing is resolved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:46:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4672277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkiRah/pseuds/AkiRah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their work at the tower concluded and the mages support assured, Surana and her party head south towards Redcliffe in hopes of gaining aid from Arl Eamon. This is, of course, not going to go as planned because nothing goes as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Souls and Sheathes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During breakfast Surana asks Sten why he was in that cage.

As Leliana had promised, Surana felt better in the morning. The real mattress had helped and she noted with pleasure that her back ached less than it had the day prior. Her heart was still heavy, but the pre-dawn light that filtered into the room was calming and the breeze was cool. She would never again sleep in a room without a window if she could help it. 

Leliana stirred and woke, rolling out of the bed with her orange hair in disarray. She said a prayer while Surana dressed and tugged a brush through her long red hair. Stanton sat on the bed, content to snooze a little longer. Surana splashed some water on her face and swished a sweet mouth rinse of mint and rosemary before feeling like she could maybe face the day. 

Downstairs, Alistair had one elbow on the table and was looking confused at Sten, who was, predictably, glaring at him. 

Surana snagged a piece of fruit and settled into a chair beside where Morrigan was reading. “Did I miss something?” 

“Sten challenged Alistair to a fight,” Morrigan turned a page. “I suggest you pester them about it.” 

“Deep in--” Surana cut herself off. “Right, I’ll do that. Sorry to interrupt, Morrigan.” 

“Hmm.” 

She moved to sit next to Alistair, he gave her a smile and she patted the seat beside her when Leliana came down stairs. “What are you two fighting about?” 

“Sten wants to fight me.” Alistair explained. Sten grunted. 

“What, why?” Surana set her fruit down and looked alarmed. “Did you--Sten? Did Alistair do something.” 

“No.” 

“Why would you just _assume_ that _I_ did something?” 

“I wished to test his strength.” Sten informed Surana. “How does he expect to fight an Archdemon when he is too frightened to fight me.” 

“I’m not _frightened_.” Alistair huffed. “I just don’t see the point. I’ve nothing to prove to you.” 

Sten snorted, but the edge of his mouth twisted up in almost a smile. “So you do have a spine. Pity you don’t use it.”

Alistair rolled his eyes and excused himself to the privy. Surana chuckled and watched him leave fondly, Leliana’s comments from the previous night echoing in her thoughts. Things hadn’t worked out with Cullen, but that had been expected. Things never _could_ have worked out there. 

The naive fancy of foolish children. 

And something to be dealt with _later_.

“The Blight--” Sten’s glare turned to Surana now that Alistair had left. “How will you end it?” 

“We have to kill the archdemon,” Surana answered. She thought about quipping something about just asking the Darkspawn to leave, but Sten seemed in a _mood_ as it was and lacked a sense of humor anyway. 

“Is that all? It is surrounded by an ocean of darkspawn. How will you reach it? Once you reach it, how will you slay it? You say you are a Grey Warden, I have heard stories of this order.” 

“And?”

“Great strategists and peerless warriors. That is what we hear of the Wardens. So far I am not impressed.” 

Surana raised both of her eyebrows. “I. . . okay? My job is not to impress you, my job is to stop the Blight.” 

“Evidently.” 

“That does remind me. While we wait for Wynne, I wanted to ask, what were you doing in that cage?” 

“I caged myself. A weak mind is a deadly foe, as you are no doubt aware.” Sten answered. 

“. . .So . . . what happened?” Surana took the “caged myself” as metaphor, doubting that he actually locked himself in the cage. 

“I told you I was sent here.” Sten held her gaze as he started to explain. “I was not sent alone. I came to Ferelden with seven of the Beresaad--my brothers--to answer the question of The Blight. We traveled for days without any sign of the threat we had heard of, until the night we camped . . . here. At lake Calenhad.” Sten looked down at the table. It felt like a silent admission of guilt and shame. A boy admitting a failure. “The darkspawn came from everywhere, the ground, the air, even our own shadows harbored them. I saw the last of the creatures cut down, too late. I fell.” He looked back up at her. 

“Sounds like what happened to Alistair and I at Ostagar.” Surana suppressed a shiver and rubbed her breast bone where the arrow had struck her. 

“I heard stories of Ostagar. Your kith stood their ground when others fled.” His expression warmed with approval. “No one can do more.” Sten reached up to rub an itch at his temple and then shook his head. “I do not know how long I lay on the field of battle, nor when the farmers found me. I only know that when I woke I was no longer among my brothers, and. . . my sword was gone from my hand.” 

There was the shame. The guilt. Surana was surprised. 

“What did you do?” 

“I searched for it. When that failed, I asked my rescuers what had become of it.”

“Did they know?” 

“They said they found me with nothing.” 

Sten had been imprisoned, according to the Revered Mother, for murder. Surana put the pieces together and her frown deepened. Sten was not a lunatic, nor was he a bloodthirsty killer. In the few days they’d traveled together she had noticed he was quiet, and serious, and . . . oddly poetic. 

And yet he had killed a bunch of people, people who had saved his life, over a sword. 

There had to be more too it. 

“And then?”

“I killed them. With my bare hands.” Sten leaned his weight forward, misery lying his face for a moment. “I did. I knew they didn’t have the blade. They had no reason to lie to me. I panicked. Unthinking, I struck them down.” 

“You killed them . . . over a lost sword?” 

“That sword was made for me.” Sten explained with urgency. “Made for my hand alone and given to me the day I was set into the Beresaad. I was to die wielding it for my people. Even if I could cross Ferelden and Tevinter, unarmed, to bring my report to the Arishock I would be slain on sight by the Antaam. They would know me as soulless, a deserter. No soldier would cast aside his blade while he drew breath.”

“Can we search for it?” 

“If I knew where to look it would be in my hand _now_.” Sten growled. 

Surana, undiscouraged, bit the inside of her lip in thought before saying, “We’re at Lake Calenhad now, you said you fought the darkspawn near here. If we start _there_ we might turn something up.”

The door to the inn opened and Wynne appeared, engaged in a conversation with Alistair. Surana pushed her chair out and smiled at them both. 

“Hello, Wynne. Ready to head out?”

“I am.” Wynne smiled warmly. “I apologize for the delay. Thank you for waiting.” 

“We’re going to make a slight detour on the way to Redcliffe.” Surana looked back at Sten as he stood, looking slightly confused. She warmed a smile at him. “Don’t worry, Sten. We’ll find it.”

* * *

With Sten guiding by landmarks and Alistair actually having a sense of direction, the party found their way to where Sten and the rest of the Beresaad had faced the darkspawn. It wasn’t a wide area, but the bodies of the darkspawn and the dead Qunari made it forboding. 

Sten chanted under his breath, prayers, Surana assumed from the tempo, for the Dead. Of course, he might have just been swearing. What she knew of Qunlat boiled down to, roughly, “Beresaad means vanguard, antaam is probably the army and Arishok is the word for king or general” so she really shouldn’t make assumptions. 

She shouted when she spotted a man looting the bodies and marched up to him. 

“Back off!” The scavenger whirled on her and snapped. “I was here first.” 

“Yes. Fine. Have you seen a sword lying around?” 

“Why?” The scavenger narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “you looking to buy one?”

“Only if it’s a Qunari blade,” Surana smiled, all sweetness. “It’s for my large, angry friend here.” 

Sten crossed his arms. 

The scavenger took a step back. “Is . . . ah . . . is he? I’d, you see I’d _like_ to sell you one, but I don’t . . . actually have any.” He reached into a back pocket. “I’ve got part of a glove here that the wolves didn’t chew too badly. Think it was a glove anyway.” 

Surana opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about, then closed it again. 

“I know, I know. I got cheated.” The scavenger hung his head. “I knew the guy who was here before me. Said he’d found giant skeletons an’ crazy valuables. Didn’t mention that he’d taken everything but the bones and the dirt already.” 

“You knew him?” 

“‘is name’s Fayrn. Squirrelly little bastard if you ask me. Which you didn’t. But I said it anyway.” 

“Any idea where I might be able to find Fayrn?” 

“Said ‘e was going to Orzammar. Probably made it there by now.” 

“Thank you.” Surana inclined her head politely, turned on her heel and started back towards the road, frowning. The treaties, at least, meant that they were, in fact, going to need to go to Orzammar eventually. But she wasn’t sure they’d make it before Fayrn sold Sten’s blade. If he even had it. 

“‘ey!” The scavenger shouted, Surana, and the rest, turned to look at him. “When you find him, tell ‘im I sent you. That’ll scare the piss outta him. Ha!” 

“I . . . okay.” 

Surana started walking again. Sten came up to walk at her side, his massive arms swinging rythmically at his sides, as though the motion was practiced. “What now.” 

“We have to go to Orzammar to get the dwarves help with the Blight,” Surana ran a hand over the length of her ropey red braid. “We’ll find your sword. I’m just. . . I’m sorry about the delay.” 

Sten grunted, but this time the sound was almost pleased. She cast her eyes up at him, realizing that, no, he didn’t tower the way she was used to people towering, all willpower regardless of height. 

Sten was just nearly two whole feet taller than her. 

“Between you and Alistair,” Surana chuckled, “I’m going to start feeling _really_ short.”

“You are.”


	2. Putting the ASS and SIN in Assassin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter one Zevran Arainai, formerly of the Antivan Crows

“Wynne,” Alistair asked as they were walking. “Are mages forbidden to marry or anything?” 

Leliana snorted a laugh and tried to cover by clearing her throat. Surana looked pointedly at the ground, shaking her head and walking just a _little_ faster to try and make it clear that she _wasn’t_ listening when she very much was. 

“What sort of man would marry a mage?” Wynne shook her head, tutting. “Weren’t you in training to be a templar?”

“What about another mage? There were just as many men as there were women in the Circle.” 

Wynne sighed. “That sort of union is . . . not encouraged.” 

“To put it lightly,” mumbled Surana, rounding the corner with Stanton, ahead of the group. The road was blocked by an overturned cart and a dead oxen. A woman looked over and threw one panicked hand into the air, shouting for them. 

Stanton growled. 

“Oh! Bless the Maker! You must help us!” The woman came rushing towards them and Stanton’s ears went flat against his head. “They’ve attacked the wagon, you’ve got to help us! I’ll take you to them.” 

Surana looked down at Stanton, he whined and shook his head. Surana gave him a puzzled look and shook her head. “We’ll be careful.” 

Stanton whined, but he kept pace with her as she jogged towards the fallen cart. As they drew closer, Surana noticed that it was _several_ carts, actually. They formed a funnel beyond the curve of the road. Standing in the center was an elf. He had flaxen hair and tanned skin, a tattoo along one cheek bone that didn’t look Dalish, and, perhaps most importantly, a very self-assured smirk on his mouth. 

He gestured. 

Surana looked up as a dead tree that had overhung the road was pushed. She flung herself out of the way. 

Definitely a trap. She could hear more people and Alistair’s shield came down to catch arrows aimed at her face. 

“The Grey Wardens die here!” Someone shouted. 

Surana threw a telekinetic blast into the air to stun her opponents as she came to her feet. “Alistair! The assassin!” 

“Right!” 

“Leliana, the archers! Wynne, cover Alistair. Morrigan! Help Leliana!” 

Sten and Stanton were already gone, rushing the bruisers with teeth and steel. Surana felt something behind her and swept back with her staff just in time to knock the assassin’s knife away from her kidney. The elf smirked at her. 

She socked him in the mouth the way Cullen had shown her and while he was distracted punched him again in the throat before trying to paralyze him. Lucky shots. Nothing but lucky shots. 

She just had to stay lucky a little longer. 

She missed with the paralyze as the assassin rolled nimbly out of her way and lashed out with a knife, almost teasing. It sliced through her robes and left a nasty cut. Surana’s fingers crackled with lightning and his every muscles contracted. 

She knocked him to the ground as the sounds of fighting died down around her and tried to breath, kicking his weapons away. 

Information always mattered. He was clearly not just some thug and that meant that someone wanted her _very_ dead. Probably Loghain. 

She turned, threw a ball of fire past Alistair to deal with the last archer, and then set about to tying the still twitching assassin up. 

“What are you doing?” Morrigan asked, making her way over with the others. 

“Information.” Surana answered, making sure the knots were tight before she ran her hands, glowing green and soft blue with healing magic, over the assassin’s injuries, just enough to bring him back around. “I want to know who sent him.”

“Loghain. Obviously.” Sten grunted. 

“Never hurts to be sure.” 

“Mmmh, what?” The assassin started to move as his breathing leveled out. He made a pained face, mumbled “ow” and then opened his eyes, blinking rather confused at Surana and the others. “I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But, I see you haven’t killed me yet.”

“That could be rectified,” Surana growled, aware that the threat lost some of it’s edge while she actively tended to his wounds. “I have questions first.” 

“Ah, interrogation.” The assassin, against all logic, smiled. “Allow me to save you some time. I am Zevran. Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly.” 

Zevran’s blasie manner of putting it took Surana _entirely_ off guard. She had been expecting . . . she wasn’t sure exactly. Surliness, more threats, “Loghain will defeat you rar!” sorts of things. 

Zevran was . . . charming. 

For a man tied up after trying to kill her, anyway. 

“I’m . . . pretty pleased you failed. Actually.” 

“So would I be, in your shoes,” Zevran agreed with a small shrug of his shoulders. “For me, however, it sets a rather poor precedent, doesn’t it?” He nodded in agreement with himself. “Getting captured by a target seems a tad detrimental to one’s budding assassin career.” 

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience?” Surana said half-sarcastically, not sure exactly how to respond to that. “Why are you telling me all this?” 

“Why not?” Zevran chuckled. “I wasn’t paid for silence. Not that I offered it for sale, precisely.” 

“You’re. . . staggeringly nonchalant for a man I’ve got tied up.” 

“Being tied up by beautiful women has always been something of a fondness of mine.” 

Surana flushed crimson. “I . . . uh . . .” she cleared her throat and fixed a scowl to her face. “Aren’t you at least loyal to your employer?” 

“Loyalty is an . . . interesting concept.” Zevran’s tone became much more serious. “If you wish, and you’re done interrogating me, we can discuss it further.” 

“I’m listening.”

“I was paid to kill you, I failed so my life is forfeit.” Zevran explained. “That’s how it works. If you don’t kill me, the Crows will. The thing is, I like living and you are obviously the kind to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you instead.” 

“Absolutely--” Alistair started to interrupt but Surana put a hand on his chest to quiet him. Intrigued. 

“And what’s to stop you from finishing the job later, exactly?”

“Honestly, I was never given a choice regarding the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I think I’ve paid back my worth to them plus tenfold.” Zevran rolled his wrists in the bindings. “The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can’t touch. Even if I kill you now, the Crows might just kill me on principle for failing the first time. Honestly? I rather take my chances with you.” 

Surana studied Zevran’s face and weighed her options. 

The careful, cautious thing to do would be to kill him _now_. But his story lined up with what she’d read about the Antivan Crows (not that the stories were much good, laden high with obvious bullshit and superstition) and he seemed earnest. 

Besides, she still wasn’t in a position to turn down help when it was offered. 

“Fine.” She said. 

There was a clamor of disapproval behind her. 

“But any attempts on my life and I will feed you your own tongue.” 

“There are much more interesting tongues I could have in my mouth.” Zevran winked. 

Surana went scarlet, again. Zevran laughed. 

“What?!” Alistair asked, “You’re bringing the _assassin_ with us now? Does that _really_ seem like a good idea?” 

“Stanton noticed their trap, if he smells anything off about Zevran we’ll deal with it.” Surana cut through the ropes with a knife. “We need all the help we can get, Alistair.” 

“All right, All right, I see your point.” Alistair sighed in defeat, “Though if there was a sign that we’re desperate I think it just knocked on the door and said hello.”

“A fine plan,” Morrigan agreed with the sweet smile usually reserved for mocking Alistair’s stupidity, “but I would examine your food and drink more closely from now on, were I you.”

“That’s excellent advice for anyone.” Zevran said, accepting Surana’s hand up. He inclined his head to her. “Your name?” 

“Neria Surana.” 

“I hereby swear my oath of loyalty to you, Neria Surana, until such time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation. This I swear.” He raised his eyes and was jovial once more. “So, where are we going?” 

“Redcliffe.” 

“Marvelous.”

* * *

“Did you . . .enjoy being a templar?” Surana asked, settling down next to Alistair with her bowl. 

“I never actually _became_ a full templar,” Alistair explained. “Duncan recruited me before I took my final vows.” 

Surana brightened visibly and Alistair shifted his weight so their shoulders were touching. Surana leaned against him. “Feeling better about that, Neria?” 

“A . . . bit,” she admitted, fishing a piece of meat out of her bowl with her fingers. “I was worried about getting you enough lyrium. I know the withdrawals kill people.” 

“You only get the lyrium after you take your vows. It’s not necessary, it just makes templar talents more effective. Or so we’re told. Maybe it doesn’t even do _that_.” 

Surana scooted a little closer and Alistair moved his hand so it rested behind her. “I’ve never heard of the chantry letting templars get away,” she said. “I wonder what it would have been like if you’d stayed a templar.” 

“I’d get to wear the uniform more often.” 

“It’s a beautiful uniform.” Surana agreed. 

They both laughed and when the chuckles had subsided she rested her head on his shoulder. “I wonder if you would have been sent to the Circle.” 

“They’d probably have kept me in Denerim and we’d never have met.” 

“Mm, that would have been awful. Of course, meeting in the circle wouldn’t have been great either. I’m . . . and it feels weird to say it, I’m glad it worked out this way.” 

“So am I, largely.”

* * *

“So, Zevran.” Surana asked as they set out the next morning, heading towards Redcliffe. “I see I awoke alive. Or rather,” she chuckled, “woke up at all, as they case may be.”

“As I said you would.” Zevran returned her smile with one of his own. “Such paranoia and doubt will keep you alive much longer, though it may not be so kind to your beautiful face.” 

Surana flushed pink and cleared her throat to try and chase it away. “Anyway, what’s Antiva like?” 

“The only way to truly appreciate it would be to go there.” Zevran tilted his head up to the sky and let the sun warm his skin. “It is a warm place, not cold and harsh like this, Ferelden. In Antiva it rains often but the flowers are always in bloom… or so the saying goes, at least.” He dropped his face back down and grinned at her. 

“You must miss it.” 

“I do, but I cannot go back, at least not yet.” 

“Sounds familiar.” Surana shook her head with a small snort. 

“I hail from the glorious Antiva City, home to the royal palace. It is a glittering gem amidst the sand, my Antiva city.” He sighed wistfully, “Do you come from anywhere comparable?” 

“The Tower was impressive, certainly.” Surana grinned at him. “But I’d wager my mother was better than any gem.” 

“You have me there,” Zevran’s laugh carried, “though, I cannot say, as I’ve never laid eyes on the woman.” 

“That’s alright.” Surana shrugged, “Neither have I. It’s just a guess.” 

“You know what is most odd?” 

“Hmm?” 

“We speak of my homeland and for all of its wine and dark-haired beauties and the lillo flutes of the minstrels, I miss the leather most.” 

“That _is_ odd.” Surana stepped around a pothole in the road. “You miss the _leather_?”

“The smell.” Zevran explained. “For years I lived in a tiny apartment in Antiva City’s leather working district, where the Crows kept their youngest recruits, packed in like crates.” He stuck his tongue out playfully. “I grew accustomed to the stench, even though the humans complained about it constantly. To this day the smell of fresh leather is what reminds me most of home.” 

Surana smiled. “I know the feeling, though for me it’s books. Soft vellum and fresh ink, a touch of smoke.” She closed her eyes and could almost smell the library. “You sound like you’ve been away from home forever.” 

“Not so long, though this is my first time so far from Antiva. The thought of never returning makes me think of it constantly. Before I left, I thought to use my last bit of coin to purchase a pair of boots, the finest in the leatherworker’s window, but I thought “Ah, Zevran buy them when you return as payment for a job well done,” more the fool I, no?”

“Your home is still there, Zevran. Maybe they’ll have an even better pair of boots.”

“True,” Zevran nodded, “and that is a comforting thought. One simply never knows what is to come next. How could I have suspected I would end up defeated by a beautiful Grey Warden, a woman who then spares my life? I could not.” 

At “beautiful” Surana almost tripped over her own feet and had to catch herself on Stanton’s head. He licked her fingers as she straightened to the sound of Zevran’s mirthful laughter and some confused sounds from her other companions. 

“You alright?” Alistair asked. 

“Fine. Fine” Surana exhaled. “Now you’re flattering me.”

“I say you are beautiful because it is true. Should I not?” 

“I . . . that is. . .” 

“Has no one ever told you that you are beautiful?” Zevran shot a confused look at Alistair, vaguely disapproving. 

Surana waved her hands frantically. “It’s fine, it’s nice, actually. I just. . . I grew up in the Tower. It’s not . . . thank you, Zevran.” 

“My pleasure.”


	3. A little less Machiavelli and little more Night of The Living Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surana learns the truth about Alistair's connection to Arl Eamon and then slaughters a horde of undead monsters.

Ferelden was, by and large, very brown. But the hinterlands were green and fertile, sloping hills and rolling fields with wide woods flush with game. They neared Redcliffe itself and Surana could see the castle within an easy hours walk. 

“Look,” Alistair stopped walking suddenly and turned to face her. “Can we talk for a moment? I need to tell you something I, ah, should _probably_ have told you earlier.” He couldn’t quite meet her eyes and Surana furrowed her brow in concern. 

“What’s on your mind? Should we send everyone else ahead?” 

“No, no,” Alistair shook his heads to emphasize that that was unnecessary. “They’ll know uh . . . anyway.” He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his short gold hair in distress. “Well, let’s see. Uh. . . how do I tell you this? We’re almost at Redcliffe. Did I . . . did I say _how_ I know Arl Eamon, exactly?” 

“I think you said he raised you?” 

“I’m a bastard!” Alistair almost shouted. “My mother was a serving girl at Redcliffe castle and she died when I was born so Arl Eamon took me in.” Alistair said it all so quickly that Surana had to pause to untangle each word. When she didn’t look particularly _shocked_ because bastards happened, he cleared his throat. “The . . . uh . . . reason he did that was because . . . well. . .” Alistair dropped his head. “Because my father was King Maric. Which made Cailan my . . . half-brother, I suppose.” 

Surana’s jaw dropped open. As did the jaws of everyone else but Sten, who seemed preoccupied with something. 

“You . . . you’re father wa. . .” Surana stopped, backed up, and tried again. “Doesn’t that make you heir to the throne?” 

“Maker’s Breath! I hope not!” Alistair looked briefly panicked. “I don’t think so . . . you don’t, you don’t think so, do you? I’m a bastard and . . . n-nobody even knows about me.” Alistair ruffled his own hair. “I was _inconvenient_ , a possible threat to Cailan’s rule so they kept me secret. I’ve never told anyone. Everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me. Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it.” 

Something about that sentence struck Surana as wrong. It hadn’t been Duncan who had ordered Alistair to light the beacon. It had been Cailan. 

The message he’d kept trying to flash her with his eyes. _Look after my brother_. 

“I didn’t want you to know as long as possible.” Alistair slumped his shoulders. “I’m sorry.” 

Surana stepped up into him and set her hands on his shoulders, having to come up a little on her tiptoes. “It’s fine, Alistair. I think I understand.” 

Alistair sighed with relief, his hands immediately coming up like they were going to encircle her waist and his face tilting down slightly to hers. 

Surana stepped back. 

“That’s--” Alistair recomposed himself. “A relief. It’s not like I got special treatment for it anyway. Arl Eamon eventually married a young woman from Orlais, despite the problems it caused with the king so soon after the war. The _arlessa_ resented the rumors that pegged me as Eamon’s bastard. They weren’t true, but of course they existed.” Alistair frowned. “So off I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten.” He shrugged. “Just as well. The Arlessa made sure the castle wasn’t a home to me by that point. She _despised_ me.” 

“Didn’t she know the truth?” Surana asked.

“She might have, but I think it’s more likely she believed the rumors were true. I can’t blame her.” 

“I can.” 

He gave her a small smile for that. “I remember I used to have an amulet with Andraste’s holy symbol on it. It was the only thing I had of my mother’s. I was so angry at being sent away that I tore it off and threw it at the wall. It shattered.” He shook his head. “Stupid, stupid thing to do. The Arl came by the monastery a few times to see how I was, but I was stubborn. I hated it there and I blamed him for everything and . . . eventually he stopped coming.” 

Surana remembered the Chantry sister who left her at the circle. She wondered if she’d ever tried to visit but was turned away by the templars. It seemed unlikely and now, Surana couldn’t even remember her name. Only that she’d had dark hair and smelled faintly of wood smoke from the brazier like most chantry sisters. 

“You were young.” 

“And raised by dogs, the way I acted.” Alistair smiled again. “So, there you have it. Now, can we move on and I’ll pretend you still think I’m some . . . nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens.” 

Surana smiled at him. “I think _I’m_ the lucky one, Alistair. But, as you command. . .”

“Thank the--”

“..my Prince.” 

“Oh, I’m going to regret this,” Alistair rolled his eyes. “I just know it.” 

Surana exchanged chuckling glances with Leliana and Zevran and followed Alistair down the road to Redcliffe when they were stopped by a man with a bow. He looked more harried than hostile and lowered the bow as they approached. “I thought I saw travelers coming down the road.” He said with a relieved smile. “Have you come to help us?” 

Surana looked at her companions and then back to the man on the bridge. “I heard the Arl was sick. Is there a problem?”

“You . . .you don’t know? Has nobody out there heard?”

“About the Arl’s illness?” 

“Illness? He could be _dead_ for all we know. No one’s heard from the castle in days except for at night when . . . things surge out of the castle and attack us.” 

“ _Apparently_ everyone agrees that a _Blight_ is the perfect time to start killing each other,” Morrigan scoffed. 

“Typical.” Zevran agreed. 

“What _things_ are attacking you?” Alistair asked, apparently the only person willing to focus on the _problem_. 

The villager shook his head. “I don’t rightfully know. Everyone’s been fighting and dying. The ones who aren’t dead are terrified that they’ll be next. I should take you to Bann Teagan.”

“Bann Teagan, the arl’s brother?” Alistair perked up. “He’s here?”

“He’s all that’s holding us together.”

* * *

Bann Teagan was a man in his thirties with piercing blue eyes that clearly hadn’t slept in several days. He stood straight though, a perfect second son, bred to lead men in battle, if likely not a skilled player of political games. 

He turned as they approached, obviously weary, but determined. “Ah . . . Tomas, was it? And who is this with you, obviously they’re no simple travelers.” Tegan brought a hand to his chest in greeting. “I’m Teagan, Bann of Rainsefere and brother to Arl Eamon.” 

“I remember you, Bann Teagan,” Alistair said, “though, I was a lot younger then . . . and covered in mud.” 

“Covered in--” Teagan’s eyes lit up. “ _Alistair?_ You’re alive!” Teagan strode over to clap his hands on Alistair’s shoulders and pull him into a brief, tight hug. 

“Not for much longer if Teryn Loghain has anything to say about it.” Alistair lamented. 

“If my brother were well I’ve no doubt he would set Loghain straight.”

“You don’t believe Loghain’s lies?” Surana asked. 

“What? That Cailan risked everything for glory? Teryn Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors and murderers of the king. I don’t believe it, it’s the act of a desperate man.” Teagan snorted his disdain and then collected himself. “Are you a Grey Warden as well, my lady?”

“I am. Neria Surana.” 

“It is an honor to meet you, though I wish it were under better circumstances.” Teagan folded his hands behind his back and began to pace. “We haven’t been able to get word. No one’s come or gone or responded to my shouts. The attacks started a few days ago. Evil . . . things surged from the castle. We drove them back but many perished during the assault.” 

“How can we help?” Surana asked automatically. 

Morrigan groaned. “One would think we had enough to contend with _elsewhere_ , rather than help these villagers fight an impossible battle.” 

“Thank you.” Teagan said, ignoring Morrigan’s complaints. “I’ve put two men in charge of the defenses, Ser Perth on the hill is one of Eamon’s knights, he’s keeping an eye on the castle. Murdock, the village mayor, is organizing the militia. They will have a better idea of what needs to be done immediately that I do.”

“I’ll see it done.” Surana promised. 

She turned to leave the chantry and felt Alistair’s hand slip into hers. He squeezed her fingers once.

* * *

Murdock was a gruff man, a fisher by trade until he’d become the mayor. Fishing was Redcliffe’s primary resource. Everything smelled of it. He relayed their situation and gave a short list of what they needed. 

The party stood together in the center of town, listening to the training exercises working around them. “Leliana, you’re good at people, I want you to go talk to Owen, the blacksmith, see if you can talk him into helping.” Surana reached back and tightened her braid. “Alistair, I want you to stay here and see about helping Murdock with training. I’ll take Sten, Morrigan and Zevran to deal with Dwyn and then talk to Ser Perth. Wynne, if you want to see if the wounded need tending that could be a great weight off the Revered Mother’s mind.”

“We’re not going to stay together?” Leliana asked, her pretty mouth tugging down in a frown.

Surana shook her head. “There’s no time. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover and we’ll be faster if we split up to cover more ground. When you finished your task head up to the tavern, we’ll have an early dinner and rest up before the fighting.” She finished tightening her braid and curled her arm back around her staff.

Dwyn’s house, following the directions Murdock gave her (and that Zevran then indicated because all the houses looked the same to Surana), was locked. A small shack near the water’s edge. Decidedly unimpressive. 

She knocked. 

There was no answer. 

Surana furrowed her brow. “No one’s seen Dwyn leave, right?” She asked, looking back at her companions. 

“Not that I’ve heard,” Zevran gave a shrug. 

“Twould not surprise me.” Morrigan picked dust from under her nails with supreme disinterest. “Seems leaving would be the wisest course of action.” 

Surana gave her an apologetic smile and turned back to the door. “Hello?”

Still nothing. 

“If I may,” Zevran said. “I have a set of lockpicks rig--”

Sten grunted, drew one leg back and kicked the door in. 

“--ht here.” Zevran looked at the door. “Hmm.” 

Surana looked up at Sten with a bemused, if slightly horrified expression because that was sudden, effective and really _staggeringly_ rude. 

“Wonderful. Intruders. I hope you have a good reason for breaking into my home.” Dwyn, as it happened, was a dwarf. Currently an annoyed dwarf flanked by two thugs. 

“ _Asala_!” Sten growled. The sound reverberated through the small cabin and caused Surana to startle. 

“What?” 

“My sword.” 

Surana looked back at Dwyn and noted that the greatsword strapped to his back was twice as tall as he was. Surana had never had much dealings with dwarves, Bodhan Feddic was the first she’d ever spoken too, being as there were no dwarf mages. She had assumed, when first seeing him, that the weapon was just very large because he was very short and she’d been rather more focused on his hired goons.

“Huh,” Dwyn stroked his beard. “Fayrn didn’t say he took it off a live giant.” 

“Return it,” Surana said. “Before this gets ugly.” 

“You know,” Dwyn looked up at Sten. He reached for the weapon and Surana tensed. “That sounds like a great idea.” 

To her relief, rather than attacking, Dwyn simply took the sword off and handed it to Sten. The moment Sten’s hand gripped the handle, a peace cleared over his face. Surana smiled at him. 

“Now. Why don’t you take your sword and leave?” Dwyn snapped. 

Surana remembered why they had broken in in the _first_ place. “The Militia needs your help.” 

“I’ll tell you what I told Murdock.” Dwyn growled, looking at the broken pieces of his door and the sword in Sten’s hand. “I’m not risking my neck for this town.” 

“Can I change your mind?” 

“Maybe,” Dwyn crossed his arms. “Let’s hear what you’ve got.” 

“Gold? I’ll hire you to protect the village.” Surana’s hand went for her coin pouch. 

“Are you serious?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“I won’t even stick my head out that door for less than a hundred silvers.” Dwyn snorted. 

Surana raised an eyebrow. “And yet I have no intention of paying you more than fifty. You’re a coward who locked himself in his house with paid muscle. If you want your hundred, prove you’re worth it.” 

“Fine.” Dwyn growled, still eyeing Sten and the blade. “Just don’t mention our little deal to anyone and you’d better be out there too when the sun goes down. I’m not fighting for a lost cause.” He growled and stormed past her, kicking the splinters of his door as he went. 

“I . . . want to feel badly about that.” Surana said. 

“I wouldn’t bother.” Zevran grinned. “I wouldn’t have paid him more than twenty-five.” 

“You’re cheap.” Surana chuckled. She turned her attention up to Sten. “That is _your sword_ , yes? I’m glad we found it.” 

“I had almost forgotten it,” Sten said softly. “Completion.” He gave her a smile, warm and full and brightening his deep purple eyes. “Are you sure you’re a Grey Warden? I think you must be an Ashkaari to find a single lost blade in a country at war.” 

“You’re welcome.” Surana couldn’t help but grin back at him. “I’m glad it worked out so quickly. I would have been very sore after walking to Orzammar and then walking back.” 

“But you would have done it.”

“Yes.” 

“I would thank you for this, if I knew how.” He dropped his eyes back to the blade, pausing and his smile growing almost _mischievous_ before he once again mastered his mouth. “And I could deliver a much more satisfying answer to the Arishok’s question if the Blight were ended, don’t you agree?” 

She wanted to hug him. She wanted to throw herself into the air and wrap her arms around his neck and _squeeze_ but somehow the fact that he was still holding a naked blade and that he was very much . . . Sten . . . discouraged her. Instead, Surana just smiled. “I couldn’t agree more.” 

“Then lead the way. I believe Ser Perth is on the hill beside the windmill.” Sten slung Asala’s scabbard on his back where he could draw it with ease.

* * *

Ser Perth was, in fact, on the hill beside the windmill, his eyes on the distant castle. 

“Ser Perth?” 

“Grey Warden,” Ser Perth turned and inclined his head to her politely. “I am as relieved as Bann Teagan to see you. Forgive me, I must admit I do not know how to address an elf in your position. I do not wish to be rude.” 

Surana blinked and reached up to touch the tip of her left ear as if suddenly reminded of its existence. She bit back the cold feeling in her chest and looked up, meeting Ser Perth’s expression. “Neria, my name is Neria, please use that.” 

“I will, and thank you kindly. I am Ser Perth, a knight serving directly under Arl Eamon until recently. Now we are combatting the things that pour out of the castle.” He dropped his eyes. “Would that I had not chosen to seek out the Urn of Sacred Ashes, perhaps I would have been able to stand against the evil that has befallen the castle. . . or perhaps I would be dead.” He shook the melancholic thoughts aside. “Ah, well, with a Grey Warden aiding our defense, perhaps all is not lost.” 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” 

“We have sufficient armor and weapons, but my knights are too few to stand against these unholy creatures on our own. Perhaps you could approach Mother Hannah about some holy protection? Otherwise, I do not know what you could provide beyond your own skills. We’re as prepared for the onslaught as we could possibly be, all things considered.” 

Surana nodded, forcibly reminding herself that a bunch of knights off chasing a fairytale probably _had_ to believe in things like “holy protection” in order to keep from feeling like complete dimwits. She could at least talk to Mother Hannah. 

She turned to look at the road. “Is this where the enemy attacks from?” 

“Here and the lake.” 

“It’s narrow. If we set some sort of. . . do we have lantern oil?”

“I believe there may be some in the general store, if there’s any to be had.”

“We could set a trap, damage the beasts before they get close.” 

Ser Perth nodded. “We could. I’ll have my men collect what they can.” 

“A brilliant tactic,” Zevran commented. “Provided it actually kills them and you don’t have to deal with _flaming_ undead.” 

“Actually,” Surana turned to smile, “I’ve found fire works surprisingly well against the undead.” 

“Truly?” 

“Truly.” 

“This is a story I shall have to hear.” 

“We’ll swap next time we’re at camp, come on, let’s go talk to Mother Hannah.” 

“Hooray,” Morrigan sighed, “back to the Chantry we go.” 

“You could head to the tavern, if you want,” Surana suggested. 

“And risk encountering your pet warden and the chantry sister? I’d rather the old woman.” 

“He’s not my--suit yourself, Morrigan.”

“He _should_ be,” Zevran agreed. “I could see him looking quite dashing with a collar and leash.” 

Surana turned crimson and half-fled back down the hill to the Chantry.

* * *

Mother Hannah was reluctant at first, but with a little convincing, and an explanation of the placebo effect, she sent a handful of silver symbols to the knights and Surana headed to the tavern, Alistair and Wynne joining them on the way. 

The Gull and Lantern was the nicest tavern Surana had ever been in, but seeing as she’d been in precisely _two_ , perhaps that wasn’t saying much. She grinned at Leliana and waved, walking over. 

“How’d it go?” 

“Owen’s started the repairs,” Leliana said, “but I had to promise we would find his daughter in the castle. We will, won’t we?” 

Surana smiled. “If she’s alive, yeah. You been here long?” 

“Not very. Bella’s been very kind, though it would seem that the tavern master is charging the militia for drinks and the elf in the corner has been acting very odd. He keeps muttering to himself.” 

“Bella?” 

“The beautiful waitress,” Leliana gestured and gave Bella a warm smile. A smile Bella returned before walking over.

“More lost souls come to drown your sorrows, eh?” Bella said. “If you came for a drink you’ll have to talk to Lloyd.” Bella gestured towards the slovenly bartender. “He’s got a vice grip on the spigots, I’m just here to keep the boys from mutiny.” 

“We’re actually looking for dinner. Though drinks would be nice. What do you know about that elf over there?” Surana indicated with a tilt of her chin. “And what do you mean by mutiny?” 

“The elf? Says his names Berwick and he’s here to meet his brother. I think he’s lying. He’s a bit . . . creepy. As for the boys, Lloyd’s charging then the usual price for ale even with the monsters, greasy bastard. If I didn’t need this job so badly . . .” 

“You don’t care for Lloyd, I take it?” 

“He gropes me and pays me next to nothing.” Bella frowned. 

“Sounds like there is very little to care for,” Leliana growled. There was vague nodding from around the table.

“It could be worse,” Bella said with a defeated sigh, “Not like I got many options.”

“I’ll have a talk with Lloyd.” 

“No, no, that’s . . . very sweet, but it’ll just make things worse. I’ll be fine.” 

Surana thought of Breckan and how often she’d said that very same thing to Jowan when he urged her to talk to Irving. And Breckan had never touched her. He just tended to _leer_ and call her “knife-ear”. 

“How about a raise then?” Surana asked, now _very_ determined to have a “talk” with Lloyd. 

“I’d like that.” Bella grinned. “Maybe we could talk after the battle tonight. . . if we’re still here, that is.” 

“I’ll go talk to Lloyd about drinks,” Surana pushed off from the table. “Everyone, order something to eat.” 

“I think,” Zevran pushed up from his chair. “I will go have a conversation with this . . . Berwick. I’m admittedly curious about why he looks so suspicious.” 

“Alright then. . .” Surana walked over to the bar, listening to the Militia men complain about risking their lives without even getting free drinks and fuming quietly over Lloyd’s treatment of Bella. By the time she reached the bar, she had already worked out most of a plan. 

“Hello there friend,” Lloyd looked up from what he was doing. 

Surana bristled just a little, but kept smiling. 

“Can’t say I’ve seen you before. You a stranger to the village? Haven’t had much travelers lately, all this nonsense is bad for business. Bet you regret coming, yes?”

“Not at all,” Surana said with a small shake of her head. 

“Brave words,” Lloyd snorted. “Brave words. We’ll see when night fall comes, eh? So, what’ll it be? You _are_ here to drink, I hope?” 

“I am, but I had a few questions, if you have the time.”

“Sure. But make ‘em quick.” 

“Shouldn’t you be helping defend the village?” She asked, extending one hand to trace the small dots of moisture on the bar. 

“Why?” Lloyd snorted again. She could see why the _pig_ comparison had jumped first to Bella’s mind. “When the monsters come I lock myself in the cellar. What’s the point in getting myself killed with the rest of them? If that makes me a coward, then I’m a coward.” 

Surana’s finger ignited. Just the finger. The wood smoked at her touch, though she was careful to keep it where only Lloyd could see. 

“It seems to me then, that you have a choice.” She took advantage of the fact that elvhen eyes were reflective and when she looked at Lloyd they literally _flashed_ as her smile sharpened. “You can die out there, fighting for your home, or you can die in here, writhing in agony.” 

“B-bu-but.” 

“But?”

“But Bann Teagan said, he said. Argh. Fine.” Lloyd sulked. “But all this had better be here when I get back. Don’t want the blasted place drunk out from under me.” 

Surana smiled sweetly, her finger extinguished as Lloyd left. She reached back behind the bar and selected a bottle of wine. She poured a round for her friends as she settled back down. 

“So?” she looked at Zevran. 

“His name is Berwick.” Zevran produced a letter and handed it to Surana. “He was being paid by Arl Howe and Teryn Loghain to watch the castle and report any changes.” Zevran took a sip of his wine and made a face. “He is most grateful that we let him live and will repay us by defending the village. This swill is truly terrible, by the way.” Despite that, Zevran took another drink. 

“So Loghain _did_ have something to do with Eamon’s illness.” Alistair’s fist hit the table and everyone but Sten startled. 

“So it would seem.” 

“Have you seen Lloyd?” Bella returned with their dinner. 

Surana sniffed at the stew, it smelled better than Alistair’s, probably. She dipped her spoon and took an experimental bite. “Lloyd, in an act of rare heroism, has joined the militia. Also, this stew is very good. Thank you.” 

“Lloyd _what?_ ” Bella actually giggled. “It’s about time he did something. Wait . . . does that . . . that leaves me in charge of the Tavern. Lloyd would have an apoplexy just thinking about it.” Her grin turned truly wicked. “Drinks are on the house and if you need anything out of the back, let me know.”

“Thank you, Bella.” Surana took another bite of her soup, feeling very pleased with herself, “That’s very kind of you.”

* * *

As they had been told, when night fell the undead swarmed out of the castle. They were delayed by the fire trap Surana had had Ser Perth’s knights set, but not delayed enough and when it seemed like they stood a chance of victory and runner reached the top of the hill to announce that more creatures were coming from the lake. 

“Sten! Wynne! Leliana! Stay here!” Surana shouted as she ran, Stanton leading the charge down to the town square. 

They fought for hours and stood, tense and paranoid in the firelight in case the monsters launched another attack. Surana felt like she was falling asleep on her feet when Murdock sent her and her companions into the chantry to get some sleep. Her attempts to protest were cut short when Alistair physically lifted her and took her inside. 

Blankets were found, though Surana barely noticed. She set her head against Alistair’s shoulder the moment his armor was off and drifted off immediately. She half-woke twice, once to allow Stanton to wiggle around behind her, forming a cushion and noticed that Alistair’s arm was now around her and that Sten was dozing on her other side. And again later when Zevran’s head settled in her lap and she saw that Leliana had claimed Alistair’s other side. 

“Mmor’gan?” Surana mumbled sleepily. 

“I think not.” 

“Kay.” 

She woke hours later and rubbed her eyes. The sun shone through the chantry windows. They had survived. Surana was brought water to splash on her face before she followed Bann Teagan and everyone else outside.


	4. Maleficarum, my old friend.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surana and Jowan: Reunited and everything hurts.

The sun was almost blinding when Surana stepped out of the Chantry. She supposed it was probably symbolic, the sun shining down with the Maker’s own light on those who had survived through seemingly impossible odds. 

Mostly it was just _very_ bright and she was _very_ tired. 

“Dawn arrives and we are victorious!” Teagan announced to the weary, but enthusiastically applauding crowd of villagers. “Though the cost was high, none of us would be standing here if not for the heroism of those brave souls beside me.” He gestured towards the sleepy wardens and their entourage. “I thank you, good souls. Truly, the Maker smiled on us when he sent you here in our darkest hour.” 

“It was my honor to help,” Surana said, feeling admittedly foolish in the face of Bann Teagan’s speech. She wanted breakfast and to take her hair down. The braid was frizzed and wild and Surana reached up unthinkingly to undo it, letting crimson fall in waves around her shoulders as she combed it with her fingers. 

There were small chuckles from the crowd, but they sounded more affectionately bemused than anything, which was nice. 

“Let us bow our heads and pray for those who gave up their lives in defense of Redcliffe,” Mother Hannah said. Every head, expect presumably Morrigan and Sten’s, bowed, thought Surana’s fingers didn’t stop combing and re-braiding her hair as Mother Hannah recited a funeral prayer. 

She had heard so many so many times before. So many deaths in the tower, suicides, accidents, failed Harrowings. She remained silent throughout, lips moving without sound. 

“With the Maker’s blessing,” Teagan addressed the crowd once more, “we have struck enough of a blow for me to enter the Castle and seek our your Arl. Keep wary for signs of renewed attack, we shall send word as soon as we are able.” 

In a lower voice, he turned to address Surana. “Meet me at the mill, we will talk more there.” 

Surana nodded. She placed a hand on her stomach as it rumbled and, to her immense gratitude, a small boy scurried up to offer fruit and bread to the heroes of Redcliffe village. She beamed at him and bit into the apple’s flesh as she started up the hill, feeling every ache and bruise from the previous night’s battle. 

“So, what is going to keep you from poisoning your target now that you have been allowed to accompany us, I wonder?” Morrigan asked as they walked. 

Zevran, for whom the question was obviously intended, merely smiled. “You are. You will be watching me _ever_ so closely to make sure I attempt no such thing.”

“And why would I do such a thing? Sneaking into our good graces in order to make another attempt is what I would do, were I you.” 

“Creepy.” Alistair muttered. 

“And here I was becoming rather fond of the idea of you watching me closely.” Zevran gave an almost sad sigh and shrugged his shoulders before winking at Surana. 

She chuckled. 

“It would be a simple enough matter to poison the food in camp. Or cut our throats while we sleep.” Morrigan continued. 

“You seem rather charmed by the idea, Morrigan.” 

“Too pleased.” Alistair muttered again. 

“It would seem an appropriate result of sparing your life.” 

“I still think it was the right call,” Surana contributed. She was ignored. 

“Ah, well, I’m sorry to disappoint you then.” Zevran clicked his tongue and shook his head. “The _next_ time I am spared I will be sure to immediately turn upon my benefactors. Will that do?” 

Teagan was standing by the windmill, his eyes fixed on Redcliffe castle and his expression dark. “Odd how quiet it seems from here,” he said sadly. “You would almost think there was no one inside at all.” He shook his head and turned. “But I shouldn’t delay. I had a plan to enter the Castle once it was possible to do so. There is a secret passage here, in the mill, accessible only to my family.” 

“Convenient.” Surana said she incinerated the core of her apple automatically, but at least had the presence of mind to look sheepish after the fact. 

“Perhaps I should have entered the castle sooner, but I could not leave the village--”

“--I understand.” Surana held her hand up. “I think you did the right thing.”

“Thank you--Maker’s Breath!” Teagan pointed and Surana whirled around to watch a tall woman dressed in very fine silks with a guard trailing behind her charging down the road from the Castle. 

“Teagan!” She shouted in a thick, grating Orlesian accent. “Teagan!” 

“Isolde?! You live!” 

“I slipped out of the Castle after the Battle!” Isolde --apparently-- said, coming to a stop in front of Bann Teagan. She was very pretty, maybe a little younger than the Bann and looked at him with such fondness that had she not remembered Alistair saying that Arl Eamon had married a young woman from Orlais Surana would have immediately assumed they were sweethearts. “But I must return there soon.” Isolde gave Teagan a pleading look. “And I . . . I need you to return with me, Teagan. Alone.” 

“Why don’t we _all_ go up to the Castle,” Surana suggested. 

“I. . .who _is_ this woman, Teagan?” Isolde looked down her nose at Surana, the way she might have looked at a furball. 

Alistair sighed. “You remember me, don’t you, Lady Isolde?” 

“Alistair?” If the _furball_ look had been bad the way she looked at Alistair was worse. All question about this being the Arlessa evaporated and Surana had to bite her tongue to keep from commenting. “Of all the . . . why are _you_ here?” 

“They are Grey Wardens.” Teagan explained, crossing his arms. “And they save my life.” 

Isolde’s face fell. “I . . . I see. I would explain pleasantries but given the circumstances--”

“Please, Lady Isolde,” Alistair said. “We had no idea anyone was even still _alive_ in the Castle. We must have answers.” 

“I . . . I wish I could explain but,” she looked back at Teagan, teeth worrying her lower lip and expression truly miserable. “I do not know what is safe to tell. Teagan, a terrible evil has taken over the Castle. The dead wake and hunt the living. The mage responsible was caught but,” Isolde buried her face in her hands, “the attacks do not stop and . . . I think Connor is going mad.” When she looked up she was on the verge of tears. “We have survived, but he will not flee the Castle. He has seen so much death. You must help him, Teagan! You are his uncle! You could reason with him.” Her voice shattered into a sob. “I do not know what else to do.” 

“Does Arl Eamon live?” Surana asked before Alistair could.

“He does. He is being . . . kept alive, thank the Maker.” 

“Kept alive? By what?” Teagan asked. 

“A demon that the mage summoned. So far it allows Eamon, Connor and myself to live. The others were . . . not so fortunate. It killed so many people, Teagan, and turned them into walking nightmares. When it was done with the Castle it attacked the village.” She buried her face in her hands again and started to shake. Teagan folded her to his chest and held her as she sobbed. “It wants us to live, but I do not know why. It allowed me to come for you because I begged. Because I said Connor needed help.” 

“Why must Teagan go alone?” Surana asked. “It sounds like you need more help than tha--”

“--For Connor’s sake!” Isolde looked up and glared at Surana through the tears. “I promised I would return quickly and with Teagan alone! Teagan,” she turned her eyes up to his. “I know you could order your men to follow me when I return to the Castle. I beg you not to. For Connor’s sake.” 

Surana frowned. Something was _wrong_ with Isolde’s story, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She _also_ couldn’t accuse a terrified, crying mother of lying to her. “We need to decide what to do. And fast.” 

“The king is dead and we need my brother more than ever.” Teagan pulled away from Isolde. “I will return to the Castle with you, Isolde.” 

“Oh, thank the Maker.” She sagged with obvious relief. “Bless you, Teagan! Bless you.” 

“I don’t like it.” Surana shook her head. “But it doesn’t seem like you have much of a choice.”

“I have no illusions of contending with this evil alone.” Teagan said, turning his attention back to Surana. “But you have proven yourself quite formidible. Isolde?”

“Yes?”

“Will you give us a moment? I must confer privately with Alistair and the others before I accompany you to the castle.” 

“Do not take too long, Teagan,” Isolde warned. “I will be waiting on the Bridge.” 

The moment she was out of earshot, Teagan’s expression sharpened. “Here is my plan. I will enter the castle with Isolde while you use my signet ring to unlock the passage in the Mill. Perhaps I will . . . distract whatever this demon Isolde mentioned is and increase your chances of getting in unnoticed. What do you say?”

“This is insane. It’s almost certainly a trap and you’re going to get yourself killed and I . . . _really_ don’t have a better idea.” 

“Ser Perth and his knights can watch the gate, if you can get it open, they can help you.” Teagan sighed. “Alistair, here is my signet ring.” He dropped the ring into Alistair’s hand. “Whatever you do, Eamon is the priority here. If you have to, just get him out. Isolde, me, anyone else . . . we’re expendable.” 

Surana shook her head. “No. I will do what I can to save all of you.” 

_For Alistair_. 

“You’re a good woman. The Maker smiled on me indeed when he sent you to Redcliffe.” Teagan’s face softened with a sad smile and he shook it away. “I can delay no longer. Allow me to wish you good luck.” 

As he walked past them, the to bridge, Isolde and probably death, Teagan paused and set a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. They shared a look and then Teagan was gone, Alistair clutched the Guerrin signet ring in his right hand. 

“We should move quickly.” Surana urged.

“I agree.” 

“Sten, I want you, Wynne and Leliana to wait with Ser Perth. A tunnel under the lake sounds. . . cramped.” 

“I understand.”

* * *

The tunnel under the lake _was_ cramped. It was also musty smelling, dark, and _slightly_ terrifying. Surana, Zevran, Alistair, Morrigan and Stanton all emerged from it, however, no worse for wear than a little muddy. 

“I think this is the dungeon,” Alistair added. “I once locked myself in a cage you know. Spent an entire day down here.” 

“A pity twas not longer.” Morrigan purred. 

“Tell me, Neria, how long have they been together, it is really quite sweet.” 

Both Alistair and Morrigan made predictable sputtering protests and retching noises at Zevran’s joke. He grinned, the attempt to lighten the mood successful. 

Surana pushed open a door and launched a lightning bolt at a trio of walking corpses pawing at one of the cells, gnashing their horrible teeth. 

When the last fell dead, she heard Jowan ask if anyone was there. 

Surana shook her head. It couldn’t be Jowan. 

He shouted again, a nervous and familiar “hello?”. 

Surana dropped her staff and darted forward. “Jowan!” 

“Holy Maker!” Jowan stared at her like she had two heads and one of them was on fire. “ _Neria!_ I don’t, I can’t--”

“You’re Alive!” Elation flooded Surana’s panicked system. She clung to the bars and stared at him. Jowan, her oldest, dearest friend. She wanted to pretend that the blood on his robes and on his cheeks wasn’t blood. Juice, maybe, from strawberries or raspberries or . . . anything else. 

“How did you _get_ here?” Jowan asked, he took a step forward and curled his hand over hers. “I never expected to see you again of all people!” 

“Someone Neria knows?” Zevran asked Alistair. 

“I think . . . Greagoir mentioned him?” Alistair shrugged. 

“What have they done to you?” Surana asked, reaching through the bars with her other hand to touch his cheek. Jowan’s skin was warm and real. He was alive. 

“What they do to all traitors and would-be assassins.” Jowan pulled away, retreating further into his cell. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they sent you to finish me off.” 

“Traitors and would-be…” Surana shook her head. “No. No. Jowan. Jowan _what did you do_?”

“You don’t know? I’m the one who poisoned Arl Eamon.” Jowan looked miserable. “For all I know, he’s already dead.” 

“He’s not. . . _you_ poisoned the Arl?” 

“Yes but I swear, I’m not behind anything else going on here.” Jowan pleaded. “I just. . .” he shook his head. “Before I explain anything I . . . I need to know. What became of Lily? They didn’t hurt her, did they?”

“She was . . . last I heard the sent her to Aeonar.” Surana pulled away from the cages and bit down on the inside of her cheek. “I’m sorry, Jowan.”

“ _Sorry!_ ” Jowan shouted. The sound ricocheted off the walls like thunder. “This is _your fault_!”

“I didn’t know!” Surana shouted back. She shook her head. “I didn’t know. I thought if I went to Irving I could talk him out of it. I didn’t expect him to -- _you’re a blood mage_! Someone had _seen_ you!” Surana bit down on her lip. “And it wasn’t . . . It was Uldred. It was a . . .he was manipulating you. But even before I knew that. I thought. . . if you had to suffer then Lily had to too. The Chantry would have pinned her actions on you. Said she was framed. I . . .”

“Would you have wanted _Rutherford_ punished?” 

“I . . . that’s not . . .” Surana squeezed her eyes closed. She composed herself and opened her eyes again. “How did you end up here, involved in this?” 

“I know it’s suspicious, but I don’t have anything to do with the monsters or the killings.” Jowan pleaded. “Lady Isolde brought me here to tutor her son but I was already imprisoned when all the demon trouble started! At first, Lady Isolde came down here demanding that I reverse what I’d done, I _thought_ she’d meant my poisoning of the Arl. She . . . she had me tortured. There was nothing I could say or do that would appease her. So they . . . left me to rot.” 

Surana ached with pity. “Why did she bring you here to tutor her son?” 

“Connor’s a mage.” Jowan explained, he ran his fingers through his shaggy brown hair. “Lady Isolde needed a tutor, someone outside the circle to help him hide his magic. Teyrn Loghain sent me. . . I was to use the opportunity to poison the Arl.” 

“Jowan…”

“He said Arl Eamon was a threat to Ferelden and that if I dealt with him he would settle matters with the circle. _All_ I wanted was to be able to return. Maker I’ve made so many mistakes. I’ve disappointed so many people. I wish I could go back and make it right. All I want to do is to fix it.” 

“The Circle. . .” Surana bit down on her cheek. “The Circle was almost destroyed. Loghain made a deal with Uldred that if Uldred took the circle they could be free of Chantry control. There were . . . deaths.” 

“Maker no.” 

“More blood magic, Jowan.” Surana sighed. “So much blood magic. Cullen...Cullen demanded I help carry out the right of Annulment.” 

“You didn’t.” 

She shook her head. “I didn’t. The Circle persists but, _fuck_ , Jowan. _Why?_ ”

“...you were always stronger than me.” Jowan said quietly. “Better. I wanted . . . you’re like my little sister. I wanted you to loo--”

“ _Blood. Magic_ ”

“It was stupid.” 

“Yes it fucking was.” Surana pinched the bridge of her nose. “If Connor’s a mage, is it possible _he_ did this? How much magic did you teach him?”

“Some,” Jowan said, “but he can barely cast minor spells. He couldn’t do this. Not on purpose. It’s _possible_ that he accidentally tore the veil open.”

“Or he’s possessed.” Surana finished. “ _Fuck_.” 

“Let me help. I have to make it right.” Jowan met Surana’s eyes. “Please, Neria. Let me try.” 

“I say this boy may still be of use to us,” Morrigan interjected. “And if not, I say let him go.” 

“Hey! Let’s not forget that he’s a blood mage!” Alistair snapped at her. “You can’t just . . . let a blood mage go free.” 

“Is this Alistair who speaks? Or the _templar_?” Morrigan growled. “Better to slay him then? Better to kill him for his choices?” 

“Give me a chance, Neria. Please.” 

“I can’t kill you.” Surana said softly. “Zevran, can you get the locks.” 

“You can’t be serious!” Alistair objected. “He’s a blood mage.” 

“He’s also my oldest and dearest friend. Practically my brother,” Surana couldn’t look anyone in the eye. “I can’t do it. Not right now. Not after . . .” she shook her head. “Escape, Jowan. This is your last chance.” 

“No.” Jowan shook his head as the cell door opened. “I’m not running. I’ll find a way to fix this.” He wrapped his arms around Surana and she started to shake. She squeezed him back and wondered when the last time she’d been _hugged_ had been. 

Had it ever happened before? 

She pressed her nose to his collar. “Be safe,” she whispered. “Be safe.” 

Jowan disappeared out the way Surana had come in and she forced herself not to watch him leave. “Let’s go.” She said, her voice feeling strangely hoarse. “We need to find Connor before it’s too late.” 

“There is . . . quite the story there,” Zevran said. “Who is Cullen?”

“Later?” Surana asked. “Please? I’ll tell you I’ll tell everyone the whole story when we’re done. Just. . . later.” 

“Of course.”


	5. He's Not An Abomination, He's Just A Very Naughty Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surana and her companions encounter Connor and decide how to save him from himself.

Surana pressed forward through the dungeon, forcibly focusing on what lay ahead of her, rather than behind. The Maker was toying with her, but maybe that was what Gods did. Their progress was slow, hampered by walking corpses and hounds that had gone feral. Alistair lead, remembering the castle as a child would. It had been ten years, pathways that to Alistair had seemed endless were really quite short, there were misremembered turns and backtracking. 

The main floor was accessible from the basement. More dangers awaited them at the top of the stairs, shades preyed in the quiet places and undead soldiers, fangs dripping with blood from their gristly meals patrolled the hallways. 

They left no door unopened, looking for survivors and for Eamon’s family, braced for the worst while hoping for the best. They found Velanna, the blacksmith’s daughter, cowering in a room and sent her back the way they came. 

Surana could only hope she hadn’t sent the girl to her death. 

The door to the main hall was locked and sturdy. Surana wasn’t certain she could knock it down without damaging the entire wall and Zevran broke a half-dozen lock picks before they gave up. 

“There’s a door to the courtyard this way,” Alistair gestured. “Teagan will have found a way to leave the main entrance open. I know it.” 

“Right. You lead.” 

He knew the kitchens better than he did the rest of the castle and found the servant’s entrance with ease. Alistair gave the door from the cellar to the courtyard a good shove and it sprung free. He smiled, mostly to himself. “Can’t believe that still works.” 

“Still?”

“I was a strong kid.” 

Almost immediately after entering the courtyard they were set upon by more undead. Surana shouted, “The gate! Someone get the--” before she was jerked forward. It felt like a giant hand wrapping around her middle and squeezing as she flew across the courtyard towards a hulking figure clad in tarnished armor. A revenant. Surana threw up a shield to take the brunt of the blow as it’s sword tried to impale her, leaving a deep gash in her side despite her barrier. She froze it and struck it with her staff. 

The revenant howled. She heard Stanton howl back. Surana summoned lightning and flame. She swung wide with her staff to clear the area around her of undead as Zevran got the gate open and Ser Perth’s men, with Leliana, Sten and Wynne at their side. The undead fell before them and Surana pressed a hand to the bloody gash on her side. 

“Maker, are you alright?” Leliana asked. 

Surana nodded. Her hand glowed and the wound sealed. “There’s no time. We need to get inside.” She sprinted up the steps to the main hall after Alistair and was there when he pulled the great doors open, Stanton at her side and the others in her periphery, Ser Perth and his knights thundering up behind them.

* * *

Thick, laughter filled the main hall. It was a child’s voice, but twisted and deeper, something far older making use of the boy’s vocal chords. Surana held a finger to her lips and they crept closer, as quiet as a squad of armed men, three mages, two rogues and a dog could sneak. 

They found Teagan, a smile splitting his face as he jumped and danced, doing somersaults and singing in a voice that didn’t sound quite like his own. 

_Please tell me this is not what you meant by “distract” it,_ Surana thought. 

Standing at the head of the hall, watching his uncle cajole and caper was a boy of no more than ten with the same sandy blond hair as his mother. His eyes were sunken from lack of sleep and his skin pale. Connor Guerrin. 

Surana squared her shoulders and marched into the hall, the others behind her. 

“What’s going on here?” Ser Perth demanded, staring at Teagan with open horror. Teagan did not notice, did not stop dancing. Not even when an attempt at a backflip ending with a painful sounding crunch and a probably broken wrist. 

“Ah. Visitors.” Connor snapped his fingers and Teagan stopping dancing. He hopped over and sat lazily at Connor’s side, looking all together too much like a puppet in an unhinged nightmare. “So these are the ones you told me about, Mother.” 

“Y-yes Connor.” Isolde said, sounding terrified and miserable and drained. 

“The one who killed the soldiers I sent to reclaim _my_ village.” 

“Yes.” 

“What _is_ it, Mother?” Connor tilted his head to squint at Surana. “I can’t see it well enough.” 

“She is an elf, Connor. You’ve seen elves before . . . we have them here . . . in the Castle.” 

Surana crossed her arms over her chest as Connor smiled widely. He clapped his hands together and laughed. “Ah! I remember now! I had their ears cut off and fed to the dogs.” He smoothed his hands over his ears, holding them flat in a mockery of not having any. “Shall I send it to the kennels, Mother?” 

Surana growled, the sound muted by Stanton and Alistair growling on either side of her. 

“Please, Connor,” Isolde sobbed, “don’t hurt anyone!” 

“M-mother?” Connor’s voice was his own again, weak and high and terrified. His shoulders slumped, a puppet with his strings cut. “Mother? Where am--what’s happening?” 

“Connor! Connor thank the Maker.” Isolde knelt and reached out her hands to touch her son’s face. 

“Get Away From Me!” Connor’s voice changed back. He lashed out and caught his mother in the jaw with force his thin arms could not have held. “Fool woman! You are beginning to bore me!” 

“Please!” Isolde turned to look at Surana, tears streaming down her face. She clutched her bruising cheek with one hand. “Do not hurt my son. He’s not responsible for what he does!” 

“I have no intention of hurting your son,” Surana said. She tried to hope it wasn’t a lie. She’d never heard of abominations who still had moments of almost lucidity as Connor had just had. He was a child. “What did you do to Bann Teagan?” 

“ _Heeeere_ I am!” Teagan almost sang, “ _hEEEEEEEEEERE_ am I! Ha ha!” His head lolled back to grin at Connor. 

“I like him better this way,” Connor grinned, his empty eyes glinting maliciously. “No more yelling. Now he amuses me!” 

“Please, Warden,” Isolde spoke up again. “Connor did not mean to do this. It was that mage, the one who poisoned my husband. He summoned this demon.” Isolde began to weep again. “Connor was only trying to--to help his father.” 

“And made a deal with a demon to do it.” Morrigan shook her head. “Foolish child.” 

“It was a Fair Deal!” Connor ruled. “Father lives, as I wanted and now it is my turn to sit on the throne and send out armies to conquer the world!” Connor tilted his head back and laughed, his thin shoulders shaking with mirth and the sound bouncing around the room in ways that made it nearly tangible. “Nobody tells me what to do anymore!” 

“Noooooobody tells _him_ what to do!” Teagan cackled. “Noooooooooobody! Haha!” 

“Quiet Uncle!” Connor backhanded Teagan. “I told you what would happen if you kept shouting!” He fixed his gaze back on Surana. “But let’s keep things civil. This woman will have the audience she seeks. Tell us, woman . . . what have you come here for?” 

“To stop you,” Surana answered, unwilling to tell the abomination wearing Connor’s skin anything about her true goals. 

“I will not be stopped!” Connor howled. “Mother! I think it’s trying to stop my fun!” 

Surana tightened her grip on her staff as Isolde stammered. “I . . . I don’t think.”

“Bah!” Connor wrinkled his nose in disdain. “Of course you don’t. Ever since you sent the knights away you’ve done nothing but deprive me of my fun. And now this woman ruined my sport by saving that stupid village. Now she’ll repay me!” Connor bolted from the room as Teagan and the handful of guards who had been positioned around the hall drew their weapons. 

“Try not to kill anyone!” Surana urged. She stunned Teagan. “Knock them down and tie them up. They’re under Connor’s control!” 

Alistair rushed Teagan, fighting defensively as Surana channeled a mass paralyze spell. When their opponents were frozen Ser Perth and his men set to carefully binding them until Connor’s influence wore off, now that he was no longer in the room.

* * *

Teagan shook his head, clearly pained.

Isolde threw her arms around his neck. “Teagan, are you alright Teagan?” 

“I am. . .” Teagan patted Isolde’s back and pulled away, rising to his feet. “I think. My mind is my own again.” 

“Blessed Andraste,” Isolde folded her hands in front of her in a quick prayer. “I would never have forgiven myself, not after I brought you here. What a fool I am.” 

“An understatement.” Morrigan observed. 

“I’m afraid I must agree with Morrigan.” Zevran sheathed his blades.

“Please,” Isolde turned, her eyes pleading as the fixed once more on Surana. “Connor’s not responsible for this! There must be some way we can save him!” 

Surana pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to think. The right thing, the clever thing, the _best_ thing to do would have been to find Connor and cut him down like the abomination he was. However, he was a child, he had periods of lucidity that seemed unusual for your standard possession, and he was Alistair’s cousin or close enough. 

“I,” she exhaled, “would have made an _awful_ templar. I’m not going to kill a child if there’s some other way around it.” 

“Connor is no longer a child,” Jowan interrupted and half the room startled. “He’s an abomination.” 

“You!” Isolde shrieked. “You did this!” 

“I didn’t!” Jowan brought his hands up, palms facing Isolde in an attempt to plead. Surana moved almost subconsciously between them. “I didn’t summon any demons! I want to help!” 

“ _Help?_ ” Isolde was red faced, the bruise Connor had given her standing out and fire in her eyes. “ _Help?_ You _betrayed me_! I brought you here to help my son and you poisoned my husband!” 

“Is this the Mage you spoke of,” Teagan asked, his eyes narrowing and his hand inching towards his sword. Surana held her chin up higher, squeezing her staff in one hand. “I thought you said he was in the dungeon.” 

“He was,” Isolde snarled. “I assumed the creatures had killed him by now.” Her glare transferred onto Surana who met it with one of her own. “He must have been set free.” 

“Jowan is no more responsible for this than _you_ are,” Surana growled. 

“How dare you!” Isolde raised her hand as though to strike Surana across the face. “It this man had never poisoned my husband none of this would have happened!” 

Without turning, Surana knew that Jowan had slumped, cowering in guilt. She drew herself a little taller, forcing herself to be bigger, something he could hide behind. She was all of five feet and two inches, a hundred and ten pounds and she had been a wall for him a hundred dozen times, staring down people much more frightening than one angry arlessa. 

“Your secrecy made his actions possible.” Teagan interrupted the tension, putting a hand on Isolde’s shoulders.

“I know I betrayed you,” Jowan begged. “I prayed on your fear but I never intended all this. Let me help.” 

“I for one shan’t turn away his help if it’s offered,” Teagan said, “and if Connor is an abomination--”

“No!” Isolde spun, wide eyed and shaking her head. “Please! He isn’t always the demon you saw. _Connor_ is in there somewhere. Sometimes he breaks free! Please, Teagan all I want is to protect my son!” 

“Isn’t that what started this, Isolde? Trying to protect him? You hired this mage to teach Connor in secret!” 

“If they discovered Connor had magic, then they’d take him away! I thought if he learned just enough to hide it, then…” 

“Jowan?” Surana looked over her shoulder, “anything to add?” 

“The demon must be destroyed.” Jowan said. “Killing Connor is . . . certainly the easiest way to do that.” 

Isolde looked like she was going to faint. 

“But not the only way.” Jowan hurriedly continued. “A mage could confront the demon in the fade and destroy it there, leaving Connor unharmed.”

“Destroy it there?” Teagan wrinkled his brow. “I don’t understand, is the demon not within Connor?” 

Surana’s eyes widened. She looked at Jowan and nodded. “Not physically,” she continued, “that’s why he still seems himself sometime. The demon must have . . . approached Connor while he dreamt.” 

Jowan nodded. “Exactly. It controls Connor from the Fade. We could use that connection to find it.” 

Surana’s mouth hitched up in the start of a smile. “And kill it.” 

“You could do this? Kill the demon without hurting my boy?” Isolde asked, her voice filled with wonder. 

“No,” Jowan shook his head, “but I can enable Neria or another mage to enter the Fade to do so. It normally requires lyrium and several mages but I have. . . blood magic.” 

“Blood magic is what got us _into_ this fucking mess.” Surana growled, one hand clenching to a fist. “It’s forbidden for a _reason_.” 

“I will do anything,” Isolde snapped. “Please, Jowan, what do you mean?”

“Lyrium provides the raw power for the ritual,” Jowan tore his eyes off of Surana, “but I can take the power from someone’s life energy. It requires . . . a lot. All of it, in fact.” 

“So someone must die?” Teagan asked. “Someone must be sacrificed.” 

“Yes,” Jowan nodded. Surana tried to glare a hole into his skull. “And then we send another mage into the Fade. I can’t enter because I’m doing the ritual. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not much of an option.” 

“I can go to the Circle and secure mages and lyrium.” Surana growled. “ _No Blood Magic_.” 

“There might not be time.” Isolde turned to Jowan. “Use my life.”

“Are you mad?” Teagan grabbed Isolde by the elbow and spun her. “Eamon would never allow this!” 

“Either someone has to kill Connor, or I die so my son can live. To me, the choice is clear.” 

“It is a _days walk_.” Surana snapped. “You can hold him in check for two days. Maker Perserve me _No. Blood Magic._ ”

“It does seem the sensible option,” Morrigan commented, “with a willing particip--”

“Jowan is _here_ because someone in the tower _caught him_ using _blood magic_.” Surana whirled on Morrigan. “ _Blood Magic_ ,” she spat the word out, “even when its immediate results are positive, has proven itself to be a _poor investment_.” She whirled back, finger jabbing into Jowan’s chest. “I will be back in _two days_ and Maker forgive me I will be _so fucking pissed_ if you cast _anything_ with _anyone’s_ blood. I am going to get Irving. I am going to march back down here and I am going to save you--” Surana jabbed her finger at Isolde “--you--” Teagan “--Eamon--” she pointed upstairs “--Connor--” in the direction Connor had run “--and _you_.” She jabbed Jowan in the chest.

The room fell into a stunned silence. Surana turned to look at Teagan. “My head is spinning. I am going to take a fifteen minute break in your library. Everyone is going to eat and then I am walking to Kinloch Hold. Anyone who wants to come is welcome.” 

“Eamon’s study is that way.” Teagan pointed, looking just shy of frightened. 

Surana nodded and stomped down the hall, her thin muscles shaking.

* * *

The amulet was sitting on Eamon’s desk. Surana wouldn’t have thought much of it if she hadn’t noticed the seams, someone had gone to great pains to put the broken necklace back together. There were small chunks missing, places where the ceramic had broken to dust, but it was almost whole. 

Alistair’s mother’s amulet. 

She pocketed it, thinking it would cheer him up to see, that Alistair would know that Arl Eamon had still loved him, despite it all. 

She did not eat with everyone else. She read for fifteen minutes from a genealogy of the Guerrins to quiet her rage and then, when Stanton pushed his head into the office, she closed the book and rejoined her companions. 

“Feeling better?” Zevran asked.

Surana nodded.

* * *

She gave Alistair the amulet as they walked up the road towards the tower, fishing it out of a pocket and handing it over in silence because she wasn’t sure what to say beyond “so, I found this and pinched it off of Eamon’s desk.” 

Alistair stopped walking. He stared down at the repaired trinket and Surana stopped walking as well, causing the rest of the company to pull ahead of them. 

“This is. . .this is my mother’s amulet.” Alistair said softly, his fingers brushing over the cracks. “It has to be, but. . . why isn’t it broken?” He looked up at her. “Where did you find it?”

“Eamon’s study.” Surana said. 

“He must have . . . found the amulet after I threw it at the wall.” Alistair’s eyes dropped back down. “And he repaired and kept it? I don’t understand. . . why would he do that?”

“Perhaps you mean more to him than you think.” Surana volunteered. “That would be the logical explanation.” 

“I . . . maybe you’re right.” Alistair turned and started walking down the road. He hung the amulet around his neck. “We never talked much and then . . . the way I left. . . I’ll need to talk to him about this if he -- _when_ he recovers. Thank you, Neria. I thought I’d lost this to my own stupidity.” 

“It was my pleasure.” 

“You remembered me mentioning it?” Alistair looked at her, mouth pulled into a bright, sweet smile. “Wow. I’m more used to people not really listening when I go on about things.” 

Surana cleared her throat and looked up at the clear blue sky, picking up her pace to catch up with the others and trying not to notice the way her heart picked up and her thoughts recalled Leliana talking about how Alistair seemed to have taken an interest in her. “Of -- of course I remembered.” 

_You’re not in the tower any more, Neria. You’re allowed to care._

She let her shoulders sag and her mouth warm to a smile as she watched the road in front of her. “You’re. . . special to me.” 

“Is this the part where the music picks up and we start dancing because I’m game.” Alistair laughed. “Where’s the minstrels?” 

Surana laughed with him. “You know, we learned to dance in the tower. Not well, mind you, but some of us apprentices. Every now and again some noble apostate would get brought in and they’d hold lessons to distract themselves. It was fun.”

“I’ve always been rubbish at it myself.” 

“Me too. Jowan was never any good, liked to step on my feet, I think.” 

Alistair laughed again. Then his expression softened, still warm and bright. “You know, Neria, I have something for you as well.” 

“Oh?” 

“Here,” Alistair reached into his pack and produced a single red rose, a little wilted around the edges from having been in his pouch, but untrampled and vibrant in color. “Look at this. Do you know what this is?”

“Is that a trick question?” Surana raised an eyebrow as she took the flower. 

“Yes.” Alistair rolled his eyes. “Absolutely. I’m trying to trick you, is it working? Awww, I just about had you, didn’t it?” 

“Oh yes,” Surana brushed her thumb over a soft, velvety petal, “you’re so very wily.” 

“ _Nefarious_ even.” Alistair tried for an evil laugh and ended up coughing. Surana put a hand on his arm to steady him, shaking her head as she chuckled. 

“Idiot,” she muttered fondly. 

“I picked it in Lothering,” Alistair explained, “I remember seeing it and thinking how could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness.” He looked down at the road as they walked. “I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn’t. The darkspawn would come and their taint would destroy it, so I’ve had it ever since.” 

“That’s a nice sentiment, Alistair.” 

“I’ve . . . wanted to give it to you, actually.” She looked over and he was blushed, trying very hard not to look at her. “In a lot of ways it . . . looking at it reminds me of you.”

“That’s. . . “ now _she_ was blushing. “That’s a lovely thought, Alistair.” 

“I’m glad you like it. I’ve been thinking, just . . . here I am, doing all this complaining and you haven’t exactly been having a good time of it yourself. You’ve had none of the good parts of being a warden, not a word of thanks or gratitude just . . . death and fighting. So I thought I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amongst all this . . . darkness.”

“I feel exactly the same.” Surana reached up to tuck the rose into the top of her braid where it wouldn’t get lost and flushed all the darker when Alistair reached over to help. 

“I’m glad you like it.” Alistair pulled away and coughed again. His cheeks looked sunburned. “Now . . . if uh . . .we could move right past this awkward, embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits, I’d appreciate it.” 

Surana raised an eyebrow and _laughed_. “ _Steamy Bits_ , right. Well, sounds good to me. I’ll tell everyone we’ll catch up? Who needs a tent.” She teased, guessing he was bluffing. “Off with the armor.” 

Alistair chuckled and ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Bluff called! _damn_ saw right through me.” 

“Nefarious _indeed_.”

“I’ll be over here. Just . . . until the blushing stops. You know how it is.” 

“You do that. You’re so cute when you’re bashful.”


	6. Offending Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surana dives into the Fade to rescue Connor Guerrin

“Every time I think “this is the last time I’ll look at the tower,” it isn’t,” Surana groaned, staring up at the building in question as she stepped off of Kester’s boat. “I think “never again will I walk those halls and feel the eyes of the templars on my neck,” and then something happens and I’m here again.” 

“Are you alright?” Leliana asked. 

“Weirdly relieved that Sten and Morrigan decided they’d rather stay at the Spoiled Princess.” Surana shrugged. She gave Stanton’s ears a scratch and then knocked on the towering front door. A templar opened it to admit them and Surana, with her companions, walked into the foyer to find Irving and Greagoir bickering. 

It was almost a relief. 

Both old men turned their heads and Greagoir sighed, but smiled (something Surana was not at all prepared for) before addressing Irving. “I imagine she’s here to talk to you, Irving.” 

“Hmm, the day you imagine things Greagoir will be a monumental occasion.” Irving grumbled as a part jibe before turning to Surana. His wrinkled face warmed in greeting. “You’re back.”

“I need . . .” Surana stopped and shook her head. “Would the Circle be willing to send mages and lyrium to Redcliffe to save a possessed child?” 

Irving frowned. “Destroying the abomination would of course necessitate killing the--” he paused. “I see. You mean to enter the Fade and face the demon there.” 

“That’s the idea, yes.” 

“We owe you too much to refuse,” Irving said with a smile that implied refusal had never even touched his thoughts. “I will gather some mages and lyrium and we will set out in an hour or two, there’s no time to delay, a life is at stake.” Irving hurried off and both Wynne and Surana watched him go. 

“He’s going to go gloat at Greagoir, isn’t he?” Surana asked, knowing the answer. 

“It’s been a long time since Irving left the tower, I think he’s just eager for some fresh air.” Wynne defended her old friend with a smile that said Irving was going to gloat. 

“He loves gloating at the Knight-Commander.” Surana sighed. She turned to Zevran, Alistair and Leliana. “We’ve got some time to kill, I guess. I’ll be in the library if you need anything, or you can head back to the Spoiled Princess, I guess.” She shrugged. 

“I’ll stay with you.” Alistair offered. 

She gave him an affectionate smile. “I’m going to be boring.” 

“I will stay,” Zevran said. “I’ve never explored a circle of Magi before.” 

“Please be careful.” Surana urged. “The templars and senior--er-- _most_ ” she added for Wynne’s sake, “of the Senior Enchanters are utterly lacking in a sense of humor.” 

“I will visit the Chantry,” Leliana said. “It has been a long time since I embroiled myself in prayer.” 

“It’s upstairs, second floor.” 

“Thank you.” 

Surana headed for the library, Alistair at her side and Stanton trotting along beside her looking content with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. He paused, barked at Surana once to let him know he was leaving, and rolled onto his back to encourage a pack of children to rub his belly. 

A beast with his priorities. 

“So, this is where you spent your time, then?” Alistair asked. Surana nodded. “As much as I could. I almost died on one of the ladders once.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow as they turned the corner. 

“It was terrifying. _And_ it’s why the--” her sentence trailed off as they entered the library and she saw Cullen. He had his arms crossed, his helmet off. He was glaring at one of the apprentices as she read, emanating a sense of profound hate and distrust. 

Surana couldn’t remember what she’d been saying. 

“Neria?” Alistair’ put a hand on her arm. 

When her name was spoken, Cullen turned. Surana could feel Alistair’s hand, it’s gentle weight anchoring her, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Cullen’s. She mouthed the words “ _I’m sorry_ ” and he turned away, looking down at the floor and then fixed his angry stare on other mages. 

“I assume that is Rutherford?” Zevran asked, appearing from behind a shelf. “He is quite attractive.” 

“I . . .” Surana swallowed. “I think we should eat. Kitchens are this way.” 

She turned and left the library without looking over her shoulder. 

“So, what is the story with you two?” Zevran asked, his expression softening. Alistair’s hand had slid from her shoulder to lace his fingers with hers. 

“We were friends.” Surana said. “I was in love with him. He’s a templar. It couldn’t have worked then and after a bunch of blood mages tortured him it . . . wouldn’t work now.” She squeezed Alistair’s fingers in her own. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” 

“You are a terrible liar.”

* * *

Surana was relieved to leave the tower, and trying very hard not to look as surprised as she felt when Irving joined them on the Ferry. He breathed in the open air deeply and smiled more warmly than she had ever seen. 

“Now, that is better,” he said to Wynne. “I can actually feel Greagoir glaring at me from behind the door.” 

“He worries after you.” 

“And _about_ me.” Irving huffed. “If Greagoir had his way all mages would be shut up in the tower at all times.” 

Surana sat away from him and Wynne on the ferry. 

There were five mages with Irving, and five templars, two of which Surana didn’t know but struck up brief conversations with Alistair in such a way that Surana assumed they had probably been transfers from Denerim. 

She kept away from them as well, and ended up walking beside Sten, who was glaring at the mages ahead of them. 

“You seem to . . . dislike mages.” Surana said as carefully as she could.

“We have no _mages_ such as you do. We have beasts in the shape of men who perform tricks.” Sten replied, his gaze never straying from the nearest of the Circle mages. 

“Beasts can’t do magic.” 

“Some men act the part of beasts.” 

“Sten, _I’m_ a mage. Are you calling me a beast?” She looked up at him, worried for a moment.

Sten looked down at her, his expression largely unreadable. “You have your moments.” 

“Moment’s where I _am_ a beast, or moment’s where I’m not?” She challenged. 

Sten smiled a little at that, not a lot, barely the corner of his mouth twisting up, but it was a little. “One would imply the other, Kadan.” 

_Kadan_. 

She had never heard that word before. 

It didn’t matter at that moment. 

“Magic’s not entirely evil, you know.” She was having to work to keep up with him. Sten was tall and each of his legs came up to the middle of her rib cage. She was suddenly grateful for all the walking, running and fighting she’d been forced to do over the last month. 

“As a fish stranded by the tide knows the air, or a drowning man knows the sea, so does a mage know magic.” Sten quoted. 

“Knowledge is less dangerous than ignorance.” Surana countered. 

“Knowledge is one half of wisdom,” Sten conceded, “but there are things that can not be known until it is too late.” 

“Fair. But why call your mages beasts?” 

“I misspoke.” Sten rolled his shoulders back and looked down at her as they walked. “They are not beasts. Beasts learn, eventually.” 

Surana opened her mouth to ask what was so terrible about magic when she thought about Cullen, tortured, and about Connor, possessed. She thought better of it, not wanting to deal with Sten’s infuriating ability to make her sound like a complete idiot whenever she stated the obvious. “That’s hardly fair.” 

“Life is fair?” Sten raised an eyebrow. He sighed and shook his head. “Is there some _reason_ you insist upon discussing this, Kadan?”

“I’m a mage and . . . we’re traveling together.” 

“No one has power over what they are,” Sten replied. “Only what they do.” 

“I suppose I can’t argue with that.” 

“Parshaara,” Sten spat the word and Surana added it quietly to her lexicon of poorly understood Qunlat. “Are we going to fight the darkspawn or chatter until they grow bored and leave.” 

“Why?” Surana asked donning a playful grin. “Do you think that’s likely.” 

“Your sense of humor is lacking.”

“Eh,” Surana shrugged, “I think Alistair got my extra ration.”

* * *

Surana turned the rose Alistair had given her in her fingers and felt that she was being unfair to him. She felt _something_ for him. Attraction, affection, camaraderie, things she would have identified as _love_ if she knew that it was something more than a refocusing of her feelings for Cullen. 

The similarities between them did nothing to ease her concerns. 

The fire dimmed. Morrigan’s tent opened and she stepped out. 

“It not the end of my watch,” Surana said. “You’ve got more time to sleep if you need it.” 

“I am aware.” Morrigan twisted her fingers and bit her lower lip, looking more disturbed and distracted than Surana would have previously thought possible. “I have been studying Mother’s Grimoire. Do you wish to hear what I have found?” 

“Of course.” Surana patted the ground beside her, but Morrigan shook her head and refused to sit. Surana frowned and then stood, hoping that by being polite she would set her friend more at east. 

“Tis . . . not what I expected. I had hoped for a collection of her spells, a map of the power she commands. But this is not it.” Morrigan looked into the dying fire. 

“You seem . . . disturbed.”

“Disturbed?” Morrigan snorted a cruel laugh. “Yes, perhaps that _is_ the right word. Something in her writing _disturbs_ me, Neria.” 

“I didn’t me--”

Morrigan cut her apology off and raised a hand. “In great detail, Flemeth explains the means by which she has survived for centuries.”

“A spell of immortality?” Surana asked, confused. “You just said it wasn’t a collection of--”

“If only twere so. There are Chasind legends of Flemeth’s daughters. Multiple witches of the wilds, but I have never seen a one.” Morrigan began to pace. “I’ve oft wondered about the source of these legends, and now I know. They are _all_ Flemeth.”

“Huh?” 

“When her body becomes old and wizened, she raises a daughter. And when the time is right, she takes her daughter’s body for her own.”

 

Surana stared, her jaw dropping open. She closed it, tried to think of something to say, then let it fall open again before finally managing. “She . . . what the-- _Andraste’s Ass_ really? I’m so sorry!” 

“Do not be sorry,” Morrigan growled. “I am not. I am angry. There is only one reaction to this. I will not sit about like an empty sack waiting to be filled! Flemeth must be slain and I need your help to do it.”

Surana ran the sentence over in her head. Flemeth was Morrigan’s mother. Morrigan wanted Surana to kill her mother. Flemeth was an apparently immortal very powerful witch of the wilds straight out of children’s fairytales. Morrigan wanted her to kill a woman who might not be able to be killed. A woman who was also her mother. Morrigan’s mother. Morrigan was asking Surana to commit matricide. 

“I . . . are you sure?” 

“I am.” Morrigan stopped pacing. “What must be done is for you to go to Flemeth’s Hut in the Kocari Wilds without me.”

“Without you.”

“ If I am there I have no guarantee she will not be able to possess me on the spot, so I must remain at camp. Slay her quickly. I doubt she will be dead even then, but it may take her years to possess a new body and regain her power. The thing I must have is her _true_ Grimoire. With it, I can defend against her power in the future. Everything else in her hut is yours.”

“I . . .” Surana sighed. “Sure, Morrigan. If it keeps you safe.” 

Morrigan actually looked surprised. Her yellow eyes dropped and she bit down on her lower lip very briefly. “I am grateful. The sooner this can be done, the sooner it will set my mind at ease.” 

“I understand.” Surana nodded. “I wouldn’t want that hanging over my head either.” 

“You should sleep. I do not doubt that our Sten will want to set out as near to dawn as we are able.” 

“He’s right to be in a hurry.” Surana yawned. “Connor doesn’t have much time.” She wasn’t convinced that that was _why_ Sten wanted to press forward, but regardless of his reasons it was the right thing to do _anyway_.

* * *

The gates of Redcliffe Castle were open to welcome them back. Surana wasted no time joining Irving in the main hall for the ritual. She gave her companions a smile she hoped was comforting and followed Irving into a small room, cleared out and set aside for the ritual. 

It felt like her Harrowing and the templar standing by the door, ostensibly to keep everyone else out, did nothing to ease that feeling. 

“Neria,” Enchanter Irving croaked. “It is possible that the demon will attempt to possess you instead. You must be on your guard.” 

“I know, First Enchanter.” Surana rolled her shoulders back. “That’s why it’s going to be me instead of Wynne or Morrigan or Jowan.” 

“You’re a dear child.” 

“Mmhm.” 

She looked at the pedestal where the lyrium, prepared and smoking, sat. It tasted electric on her tongue, the air around it buzzing, tingling on her skin. The collected mages charged the mineral with magic as Surana breathed it in and let go of her body. 

The Fade was much like Redcliffe castle had been, with more twists and turns and doors that lead no where, corridors that looped back on themselves. 

Surana listened for Connor, and heard an older man instead, shouting for him. She frowned. “Arl Eamon?” 

The Arl was an older man, his head and beard already grey. But there was strength in his lungs when he shouted, “Connor! Connor I can hear you! I’m coming!” 

“Father! Father where are you?” Connor called back. 

Surana kept walking and found the corridors and rooms full copies, translucent memories of Eamon and Connor, chasing one another through the castle, unable to see the other. A trick of the demon’s. Misdirection to keep either father or son from finding their way home. 

“Connor!” Surana shouted. “Connor where are you?” 

“You there!” One of Eamon’s shadows stopped walking, more solid than it’s fellows. “Have you seen my son? I can . . . I can hear him, but I cannot find him.” Eamon pressed a hand to his temple. “This blasted fog has me turning in circles.”

“A demon has trapped you here, Arl Eamon.” Surana said. If the shade was a demon and not the Arl, she lost nothing by admitting it. “This is the Fade.” 

“The what?” Arl Eamon shook his head. “I don’t understand. Is Connor here or not.” 

Surana sighed. Non-mages and the Fade. It was never a good idea. They had a harder time telling themselves that they were dreaming. Particularly if they were sent into the Fade unwillingly or unknowingly as the almost always were. 

“Don’t worry,” Surana shook her head. “I’ll find a way to save you _and_ Connor. Please, be patient and . . . honestly. . . a bit paranoid.” 

“Leave me to find my son!” Eamon turned and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Connor! Connor! Speak to me lad! Connor!” 

He faded, another shade stepping through him. 

Surana continued on. 

She found Connor next, or something that looked like Connor. He looked up at her and frowned. “Who are you?” He pointed a thin, accusatory finger at her. “Are you the one who made Father ill?” 

“No. That was the demon I’m looking for. Tell me where it is.” 

“No! You’re here to hurt my father, aren’t you?” Connor tried to puff himself up. “I won’t let you.” 

The boy convulsed and screamed and a desire demon ripped out of his skin and grinned at Surana, who had a blast of lightning balled up in her fist already. Surana shot it into the demon’s chest and as it twitched, paralyzed she conjured flame to boil the beast’s blood. 

The demon vanished before Surana could land the killing blow. Surana curled her lip in contempt. “Well,” she said aloud, trusting that the demon could hear her. “At least now you know I’m not fucking around. Release the boy.” 

There was no answer. Surana resumed walking. 

It wasn’t a maze, she realized, not bothering to keep track of where she was going because directions were meaningless in the Fade anyhow, it was a labyrinth. Every turn and step would lead her to Connor eventually. 

Patience. 

If the demon tried anything while she was here, she would feel it, follow it, deal with it. 

For a moment. She had all the time in the world. 

Another turn and she heard Connor accuse her of making his father ill. She ignored it until she found him again, accepting that it may very well be the demon wearing his shape, but unwilling to risk making the boy tranquil. 

“Why are you trying to hurt me?” Connor demanded. “Why are you trying to stop me?” 

“Are you actually Connor, or are you just another demon?” 

“And if I were Connor, what would you say to him?” 

“Seems to me that, since you’re _not_ Connor, that’s rather irrelevant.” Power began to gather in Surana’s fingertips once more. “Wouldn’t you think?”

“You will not find what you think! Turn back now!” 

Surana growled and lightning crackled from her skin. “I will not. Release him.” 

“Trespasser!” The demon screamed, shedding Connor’s shape again, this time joined by another demon. “I will drive you out!” 

Surana threw her lightning and then the demon dodged she froze the very air around them. Her will was real, she bent it around herself like a shield and then threw it outwards to stun and push her enemies, slamming her will into the demon’s face the way she had seen templars do in their training exercises. 

In the fade she was not just an elf. She was not restricted or bound by five feet of height and limbs that were dexterous and able, but not truly strong. She was as strong as her will, and there was a child in danger. 

Again, the demon fled before Surana could land a killing blow. 

“You’re weakening.” She commented. “I can feel your hold on this place slipping.” 

The third time she found “Connor” the demon wore his skin, but the disguise was sloppy. It made no attempt to hide its voice or its nature when it asked her, passably diplomaticly, “Father wanders, seeking me, trapped within my web. All is as it should be. Why must you interfere?”

“You meddle where you should not, demon.” Surana growled. “You will not keep them.”

“Connor invited me and we struck a deal! It is my right to do as I wish!” The demon, itself before her, bared its teeth, beautiful and terrifying all at once. “You will leave! Things will go badly for you if you do not.” 

“I will not!” 

The demon darted out of the room at the last moment again, but the dream was starting to fall apart. Surana smiled. She let herself be angry, held onto her exasperation and her annoyance and her indignation that a demon felt Connor Guerrin was its plaything but right. The shades meant to confuse Eamon were less solid, the fog was lifting. 

She found the demon again, wearing its own shape (in so far as a desire demon had a true shape) and clinging to the fabric of Connor’s dream in desperation. It brushed a long, taloned hand over its torso, cupping one grey-purple breast just briefly enough to draw attention to it while the other hand slid down over its hip.

Desire demons, they didn’t have any sense of temperance or any idea of how to cut their losses and run. Surana almost had the presence of mind to feel badly for the thing. 

But that would wait until after it was dead. 

“No more illusions,” it said in a voice of honeyed wine, “you stand in my domain. It is here that I am most powerful. Yet,” it smiled invitingly, “I have no wish to engage your power, nor should you wish to engage mine. Perhaps we should . . . converse instead?” 

“No,” Surana said flatly. “You are going to die and I am going to take Connor and Eamon home.” 

The demon screeched, but Surana was ready. One last shot. She threw her will forward and wrapped it around the demon, constricting its movement. She channeled through it and the demon, already weak, screamed and thrashed. 

And then was nothing. 

Surana exhaled, exhausted, as the dream started to crumble around her. “Connor?” 

“Who is that?! What’s happening?” 

“You’re going to wake up, Connor,” Surana offered in an attempt to calm the boy as he panicked. “It’s all going to be alright.” 

“Where am I?” 

“You’re dreaming, Connor.” The world began to dim. “You’re only dreaming.”

* * *

She stirred from the blackness slowly, her head throbbing as though it were several sizes too small. Surana opened one eye and saw purple robes, her mouth twisted into a smile. “Jowan?”

“I’m here.” 

“Maker, where am I?” 

“The guest room,” Irving replied, Surana twisted her neck to look at him. He smiled. “You continue to impress me, Neria. Connor it seems is the boy he was. We are heading back to the tower now, I merely wanted to be certain you awoke.” 

“Thank you, First Enchanter.” 

“She awake?” Alistair peeked his head in. “Maker, I thought you were going to sleep forever.” 

“You did not.” She shifted to sitting. “But how long was I out?” 

“Half a day. Sten looks like he’s going to mutiny, I’m a little worried Morrigan and Zevran are going to help.” 

“Bah.” Surana swatted the concerns away. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine.” 

“Bann Teagan wanted to talk to you, he and Isolde are in Arl Eamon’s bedroom.”

“Is the Arl--”

“Still unconscious.” Alistair shot a withering glare at Jowan, who recoiled. 

Surana glared back at Alistair automatically and then shook her head in apology. “Sorry, I just . . . headache,” she tried to cover. “I’ll go talk to the Bann.”

* * *

Isolde and Teagan were speaking in low tones when Surana entered the room. Isolde had stopped crying, though the bruise on her jaw still stood out. She was smiling at Teagan, still looking strangely sad until she turned her attention onto Surana. “Andraste bless you,” Isolde’s hands came together in prayer. “Conner is himself again. I had. . . I can scarcely believe it. I can never repay you.” 

“Should Eamon awaken he will have much to rebuild, but thanks to you, at least my brother will awaken to his wife and son.” Teagan folded his hands behind his back. “There is still the matter of the mage, Jowan. We will hold him here, for Eamon to decide his fate. If Eamon doesn’t recover, Jowan’s fate is sealed. What do you think?” 

“I would like Jowan released,” Surana said. “I know it’s . . . unlikely. But I know him, I’ve known him for years. He’s a good man he’s just. . . stupid.” 

“ _Release him_?” Isolde demanded. “Are you mad?” 

“I agree with Isolde. Regardless of your personal connection to him, Jowan is a maleficar. We cannot simply unleash him on the land and ignore his crimes.”

“I know.” Surana hung her head in defeat. “But for a moment, I allowed myself to hope.” 

Teagan’s expression softened. “On occasion, that is all we can do. I will have the mage imprisoned again. But, our work is not done.” Teagan turned to the bed where Eamon was lying, his breathing steady at least. “Whatever the demon did to my brother, he remains comatose. We can not wake him.” 

“The Urn!” Isolde insisted. “The Urn of Sacred Ashes will save Eamon.” 

Surana sighed. “I assume magic has been tried?” 

“It has,” Teagan confirmed, “and we will keep trying. Perhaps the demon’s absence will make a difference.” He shook his head and turned to look at Surana. “The relic, however, is another option.”

“Eamon funded the research of a scholar in Denerim.” Isolde explained. “A Brother Geniti--”

“Brother Genitivi?” Surana interrupted. “I’m familiar with his work, _Tales of the Destruction of Thedas_ was required reading from my mentor.” 

“When Eamon fell ill I sent knights to Denerim to find him, hoping he had uncovered more information and perhaps the whereabouts of the Urn.” Isolde twisted her wedding band. “They were unable to find Genitivi. In desperation I sent more knights in search of either the Brother or some clue of the Urns location.” 

“I can’t stop Loghain without Eamon’s support.” Surana said, feeling very small and very tossed about by the winds of fate. “And I can’t stop the Blight while there’s a civil war on. I’ll see if I can find either this Urn _or_ Brother Genitivi. You said he lives in Denerim?” 

“Yes. I would go but I can not leave Redcliffe to it’s own devices.” Teagan apologized. 

“I understand.” Surana reached back and began to unbraid her hair. “We’ll leave in the morning and hope to return soon.”

* * *

The knock at her door was unexpected and tugged Surana out of her dream. She dressed quickly in the simple nightgown one of the Arlessa’s maids had left out for her and answered the door, surprised to see Alistair in his sleep pants. 

“May I come in?” He asked, flushed pink. Surana nodded and stood aside, pulling the door closed behind him. The room was plunged into darkness, but she conjured a small flame and lit a candle. 

“Your eyes glow,” Alistair said, taken briefly aback, “er. . . reflect. I never--”

“It’s an elf thing, you’ve never seen me by candle light before.” 

“I really feel like I should have.” 

“Flatterer.” Surana shook her head and smiled, setting the candle on the nightstand where it would be safe. “What’s on your mind, Alistair?” She walked back to the bed and sat on the edge, patting the place beside her for him to sit down as well. Surana yawned. “Just can’t sleep?” _Nightmares?_

“I wanted to talk about . . . what happened.” Alistiar sat down and rested his elbows on his knees. 

“I think it all worked out.” Surana yawned. “Other than Eamon still being unconscious.” 

“That’s what I meant.” Alistair smiled, the little light from the candle deepening the shadows on his face in a way that made him look older, but no less handsome. “You went out of your way to save the Arl’s family, even though it would have been easier not to. There’s been so much death and destruction, it . . .it makes me feel good that at least we were able to save something. No matter how small. I owed the Arl that much.” 

“We stop the Blight we’ll save even more.” Surana reached over and gave Alistair’s arm a squeeze. “That’s what Grey Wardens do, isn’t it?” 

Alistair covered her hand with his own. “I like to think so.” 

They sat there in the dark for a moment, Surana shifted to move closer to him as a window blew through her open window. Alistair wrapped his arm around her and his skin was warm to the touch. He smelled nice, like soap from the bath with woodsmoke still clinging to his hair. A warm, comforting scent. 

“I understand we’ll be going to Denerim soon,” Alistair said, “I wonder, while we’re there do you think we could look someone up?” 

“Someone?” Surana chuckled a little. “Not an ex-lover or something?”

“What?” Alistair tensed and started to move. “No! Do you think I’d suggest--Together? No!” 

“Ssh,” Surana patted his back. “I’m teasing, Alistair. I’m tired.” 

“Right.” He settled and curled his arm back around her, tilting his head to rest his cheek on the top of her head. “Sorry, it’s . . . I have a sister. Well, half-sister. I don’t think she knew about me because they kept my birth a secret, but after I became a Grey Warden I . . . well I did some digging. She’s alive. In Denerim.” 

“Goldanna,” Surana nuzzled against him, feeling heavy and comfortable. “You mentioned her in the Fade.” She recalled how happy he’d seemed, even through the waves of her own misery. “That’s wonderful, Alistair.” 

“She’s the only real family I have. The only family _not_ also mixed up in this whole. . . royal . . . thing. With the Blight and all . . . if she died and I never went to meet her I think I’d regret it forever. I think she remarried but she’s still living just outside the Alienage. If we’re in the area--”

“We’ll go.” Surana promised. “It’ll be . . . fun.” 

“Thank you.” He tilted her head and went to kiss her on the forehead, Surana shifted, her chin tilting up to try and meet his mouth with her own. 

Alistair pressed the kiss to her cheek instead. “I . . .” he exhaled. “I would like nothing more, Neria but . . . what about Cullen?” 

Surana faltered. Her eyes went wide and wet and she pulled away, ashamed of herself with hurt and desperation tangling into a ball in her chest. Alistair curled her close. 

“I understand,” he promised, whispering the words in her ear. “And besides, we’ve got this whole, Blight, thing to worry about. We’ll need to focus on it anyway.” 

“You’re right,” she buried her nose against his collarbone. “I’m sorry, Alistair.” 

“If we’re both alive at the end of this, then . . . I would like--”

“Me too.” She interrupted. 

“But only if it’s just us.” Alistair tilted her head up again to watch her face. “If it’s just us and we’re all the other wants. Otherwise . . . friends?” 

“I had no idea you were such a romantic,” Surana teased. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, eyelashes leaving little wet dots. “Thank you for being patient with me.” 

“It’s the least I could--I’m not trying to pressur--I just . . . I’ve heard how broken hearts can be and I don’t want. . . _if_ it happens I want it to be--”

“You.” Surana smiled. “And to be certain that I’m not chasing shadows.”

“Uh. . . yes.” Alistair deflated a little. “Not that I think you are.” 

“We should probably focus on the Blight anyway.” 

“Yes.” 

“But after,” she squeezed him tight. “ _after_.”


End file.
